Crying

As the liquid crystals tread readily warn tracks,
And reach the blubbering exit of her ethenol slights,
No sense she makes,
Just slurred disconnects,
No actual words come out.

She lives in fog ridden plains,
Filled with impossible pains,
It's amazing what stuff the mind can create.

Urine stained bedding and a tired little girl,
Signs that this isn't the first visit,
to that cruel fictional world,
How many times must I listen,
To this self induced mess?
It's a sickness,
I know...
But I can't hear anything else!