Her name is Jess.

She tends to get stressed over her self-worth as she sifts through texts from her ex, so much so that she can't even get dressed or look into the future to see what good things are next.

She lays glued to her sheets, lonely and depressed. She hates to look at the mirror across from her bed because then, she'll see the recently acquired cigarette marks on her chest; because then, she'll see the demons clawing, scratching at what she holds in her neck.

These vocal cords she will stretch to demand respect and use as a weapon to reconnect with the roads that intersect at the broken and the blessed.