Her skin was clammy,
the sensation of
little bugs all over drove her nuts.
Sipping pungent strong alcohol,
- She needed to feel...
she needed to feel numb.
She was at the height of
her downfall.
How much more can this
broken little girl take.
She inhaled another poisonous puff
and watched as her world swirled below
her.
Teetering between sanity
and a psychotic break.
She wanted to dance like an angel.
She wanted to love like a Mother.
She wanted to be loved...
but as long as she was herself...
That would never happen.
Her mouth tumbled out poetic
words of hope and torture
her soul gave and gave endlessly,
but all everyone saw was failure.
She just wasn't good enough.
To give up hope is to give up life.
To give up life is to let her enemies win.
She puffed another drag from her cigarette
letting it take hold of her body, mind and her
tattered soul.
She looked at the heavens and wondered
what she had become.
A jumbled mess of depression and angst.
A status symbol of teenage marytardom.
If she died now, then she'd be forgotten;
If she lived, she'd live the legacy that so many
had knew she could achieve.
Pulling open the drawer,
she pulled out a rusty razor....
she wiped off the imaginary dust,
and dragged it across her skin.
She winced as the blood started to
appear.
Drip. Drip. Drip. On the carpet.
Another swig from the bottle
instant cure.
"Hopelessness is a hard thing to cure"
She screamed to the walls
that wouldn't scream back.
These walls had seen unspeakable things;
They had seen her taken against her will,
as she screamed and cried for her mercy
and her innocence.
" I want to live. I just don't want to be me!!"
She contorted into a helpless ball
blood pouring onto the floor,
she lay sobbing.
Listening to the rain pitter patter.
"No one cares they all just want me to be like them!!"
She cried and cried all the while making the cuts
deeper and deeper.
" I just want someone to love me."
She lay there cold and silent.
A knock at the door.
No one had heard from her in days.
The windows a dreary black,
No music floated through the house.
Heavy boots pounded through the house.
And the dial to the telephone can be heard.
Flowers tossed on the grave of a little girl
who gave up hope.
A little girl who was free and happy.
Taken from the demons t
hat tormented her most.
A little girl lost in the tribulations
and trials of adulthood.
It was just too much.
They weeped at her grave
at the things they could have said.
They weeped at the loss of a sister
they weeped at the hopelessness
of another lost soul.
" I wish we could have helped her"
All the signs were there.
They just weren't listening.
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