The sun hits the woman in pain
The grass is cold you can tell it was wet
Still haven’t gathered guts to look at sun direct

Her heart still beats once every sixty seconds
Wine glasses are still her most preferred
She still gulps her saliva before a tequila shot
She doesn’t see herself as queen, just like the confidence code would require

She still struggles to get to get to motion every time she has to write
She still sees the all the blurriness
The blurriness of green grass and white paper
And it all still hits the same, nothing’s changed