She's a Lot of Things, but She'll Never be What You Expect

She's a train wreck:
You can't look away as her life crashes into walls and people and oh god, the people,
The people she collides with to keep her life in space,
But her tracks only grow weaker
Until someone guides her back to a station to be repaired,
Before starting the vicious cycle all over again.

She's a green sunset:
Clouded by the pollution others have leaked into her skies,
They call it a hunch when she discovers radioactivity in her heart,
Even though it's common knowledge they all played their fair share in her ill colors.
Setting and rising at the same time,
On both sides of the world.

She's a cicada shell:
A little too hollow to be classified as living,
Translucent brown through and through,
Everyone is too scared to look at her, though she's obviously dead,
Just a ghost of her past,
But she never caught up with the other half.

She's a dog day:
Hot, humid, and the dogs bark like crazy,
Trying to find her way out of the sun,
Because the aloe can't soothe broken bones and whip burns,
Left alone without sunscreen all those summer days,
Endlessly attempting to heal skin cancer.

She's a lot of things:
An empty sinkhole,
A long-forgotten childhood toy,
A battle-scarred tom mewling desperately for love,
A silence that rattles through your bones,
And much more,
But she'll never be what you expect.