Jar of Worms

Opening a jar of worms she says she wants some closure, using a tourniquet to release some pressure from the lid. With an open hand she spins the threads to loosen the grip she self contains. With a clenched fist, she curses the odds of ever letting that happen again. The epitome of fault is blame.
The house is so silent it;s haunting. She's aroused by the Demons in her head. She's too exhausted to exercise. She takes them on a run instead.
She used to be so bubbly, just so bottled up inside in celebration she would pop the cork and waste herself in fizzed out fashion. Now she allows herself to breathe like a vintage wine.