Pushing Through

A/N: This is apparently what happens when my brain gets sick of depression. I kind of like this, flaws and all.

The taste of salt lingers.
The corners of her
mouth turn down.

Its not a frown-not quite.
It's merely displeasure
at the flavour of stale tears.

There is something building.
Something beyond the
pain that makes her cry.

She wants to fight.
Anger gives her fire.
There is cleansing
in the strength
of her emotion.

The battle inside
pushes her onward,
toward better tomorrows
and brighter moons.