She

She sits in solitary, a book in her lap, a pencil tense in fragile hands. 
In frigid movements she writes, writes everything she knows, everything she feels.
She has to write it all;
It’s the only way she can truly express whats forming in the pit of her stomach, whats buzzing in the atmosphere of her mind.
The feelings spill over the pages in compact, black lead,
feeling after feeling, thought after thought.
She stops for nothing.