The empty cup.

She sits, an empty cup, drained of its tea, Exhausted sighs escape, unheard, unseen. Thoughts, like shadows, twist and disagree, Pushing out the light, leaving only the keen. Loved ones fade, like whispers in the breeze, As she slips away, a ghost in her own life. The endless loop of "When will I find ease?" Echoes in the void, cutting like a knife. "When will she understand?" the question sighs, Her mother's words, a weight upon her chest, Each argument a blow, beneath judging eyes, Leaving her adrift, with no place to rest.