A year has passed, and still she drowns,
In rivers of amber, in shadows and frowns.
The bottle whispers, her closest friend,
A pact with silence that will not end.

Around her, ghosts with hollowed eyes,
Their laughter sharp, their smiles lies.
She sits alone beneath the stars,
Counting wounds, her hidden scars.

"What am I now?" she mutters low,
"A shell of a girl I used to know."
Her fingers trace along her skin,
Marks of battles she fought within.

A single tear escapes her gaze,
A fragile thread through a smoky haze.
Her thoughts return to golden days—
Her father’s love, his steady ways.

But her mother’s words, a venomous sting,
Echo loud, like a bell’s cruel ring.
"You’re weak, you’re broken," the voice persists,
A mantra of pain she cannot resist.

She rises, bottle clutched in hand,
Her footing fragile, a crumbling stand.
Then comes a buzz—a sudden sound,
Her heart, already fractured, pounds.

Two names flash—a distant past,
Old friends...