She

SHE sees all the people around her and she stands and props up a wall, wishing that it would support her instead. She sees all the smiles, she grasps for goodbyes, and she hungers for hugs and helloes. 
And she cries silently and she is surpised when her tears don't even freeze on her icy cheeks, frosty from her broken heart, her beaten lungs. 
She is thinking the words even then, the same words over and over and over, till they run into a stream together, all mixed and jumbled up, just like her, and go on endless stretching forth. 
She knows this:
That she will stop thinking now because if she thought any more it would bring everything back and it would hurt so much, it would hurt so much that she wouldn't think about anything else in numb agony, and she knows that when she smiles then it'll be a grimace in disguise. 
This is what happens. 

Who am I? 
Who are we and what are we doing here anyway? 
My right hand has got tendon problems making it weak and painful and almost infected at times. My knees have been completely wasted absorbing impact. My heart has been broken into a million pieces and you, yes you, you stupid people I was foolish enough to love, you have gone and walked all over it every single time you breathe a breath or speak a word or lift a finger. And you have left dust. 
Nothing but dust. Even though it used to be something so precious you have made it into dust; you have made ne nothing - you have made me realize and you have poured enough tears down my lungs to not drown me but to force me to acknowledge that I am nothing. 
Silence. Words. Smiles.
Silence.
One last word. 
Isn't it funny how SWS is so similar to SOS, but nobody would even think it was a typo?

And yet she smiles. She surfaces and that is all she can even think of doing.