shes slipping through my fingers.


i wish she could see how beautiful she is
that she doesn't need to disappear
for me to try to hold her.

i wont let myself lose her.
shes too young
too smart
too funny
too kind
and im losing her more every day.

i wish there was anything i could tell her
to make her see she is loved
no matter what
no matter how much of her there is left

i will always be there
and i'll never let her go again





cause sweetheart,
i cant watch you die.

i feel it hit me again
as if ive swallowed mercury
as if there are bees dying in my lungs
as if suddenly nothing has ever been right with this god awful world and i cant ******* stand to sit in the same room any more.

im so sick of this im so sick of this im so sick of this

ill destroy my hearing for the next few hours
or however long it takes for the music to overtake the intensity of emotion im feeling.
i cant describe it
i dont want to see or hear or think
i need a filter in my brain to catch all the ******* thats cluttering up my mind
i cant think straight
for now at least the music can brush up all the crap
i need to rest
i need it to be quiet
seemingly i can only find silence in noise loud enough to drown out everything else.
i cant even hear the music
its just... quiet

i am so scared that i am making this up

I will tell you,
next time we meet;
'I won't write you a love song'
because I don't think my heart can take it.

The last time that I wrote a love song,
was the night before he broke my heart;
It's bittersweet melody wails softly in my head,
lulling me to a sleep of regretful tears.

It was probably the most beautiful song I had ever written,
it was full of open scars that I was willing to share,
and the tones soft enough to bring the swifts in the rafters to silence.
and they would
...
listen until the final chord plays;
'i'm so human' i sing,
my voice trembling slightly as i feel it all swell back.

you see,
the problem with love songs is this;
no matter how beautiful they may be,
behind every word,
is another word that you will wish you had said,
before he broke your heart.

I would like to get something off my chest.
take this as what you wish;
a poem,
a confession,
a cry for help,
whatever you see fit.
But take it as this, simple fact;
today, I nearly committed suicide.

So, you're probably asking yourself
why or how?
so I guess I'll have to tell you a story.
you may not enjoy it, mind,
but if you have made it this far,
you must be curious,
right?

I woke up itching and aching from the mosquito bites and bruises all over my body,
(I went paintballing a few days ago for my friend's birthday)
and so, after taking some pain killers,
my mum suggested I had a shower.

The water burned at my swollen hands,
it beat against my purple-bruised back and arms,
and my hair was a knotted mess that I couldn't bare on my skin.

When I got out of the shower,
my skin was on fire;
everything was so, so, so hot and my hair was disgusting against my neck and back which were already aching from lying awkwardly in my sleep
I didn't even have any clothes to change into when I got into my boiling-hot room and I didn't want to just walk around in a towel.
So I just sat.
And cried.
And yelled.
Andcriedandcriedandcried.
And SCREAMED.

My mum was concerned,
so she tried to help.
But everything was already too much;
I had gone nearly a month without any kind of incident,
so I was long overdue.
I couldn't stop scratching at the dozens of bites on my swollen hands,
and I was just so, so vey hot.
I screamed at her, and I couldn't help it.

She was just trying to help,
and I knew it then - I know it now.
I heard my sister crying in the room next door,
but I couldn't stop.
Everything was just so ****** up.
My dad comes storming down,
like he does when arguments are actually getting somewhere useful,
and tells me to back off and go back into my sweltering room.
I scream at him that he's useless,
that the only thing he ever does is make the arguments worse.
I slam my door as hard as I can,
and throw the glass in my hand.

After that, I couldn't stop crying.
the tears just kept coming, and coming,
and I didn't know what to do.
I wasn't angry - I never actually was,
that is just a lie that my mood tells everyone when I'm depressed -
I was just really, really ******* sad.

I couldn't get the thought of the medicine cabinet out of my head;
above the counter on the right of the kitchen sink.
I couldn't forget about all the meds in a plastic Tupperware box;
prescription drugs,
pain killers,
I knew that there was enough for me to do it,
I knew that my mum and sister were going out,
and that my dad had been told to give me space.
I could do it.

Did you know that overdose is the second most common form of suicide in women?
Because I didn't.
The thought occurred to me whilst I was sitting in my misery,
tears still pouring down my face.
Is it because it is just so easy?
Is it that easy for everyone?
Oh, sweet Jesus,
I hope it isn't that easy for everyone.

The scariest part of it is this;
I get these thoughts maybe once a week,
sometimes more.
I am only 14 years old,
and today I nearly committed suicide.
I have great friends who depend on me for their emotional support,
a promising career in acting,
an amazing voice,
good grades,
a not-insignificant talent with sketching,
and most importantly,
I have dreams.

Today,
just like countless other days like it,
I was completely ready to just
throw all of that away.

Now, I don't know if I will ever live until I leave school,
or whether I will live until my hair turns grey and I am surrounded by grandchildren,
but I want to get out a message;
age does not equal risk.
People doubt my truthfulness when I tell them about my health,
because I haven't "experienced" enough.
None of that matters,
because when it comes down to it,
all it takes is this;
a method,
a means,
and a motive.

Don't let anyone you love make the mistake I almost did.

Things are changing,
Slowly.
Slowly.

Nothing drastic,
Nothing worth note,
But things are still changing -
Slowly.

I've been catching smiles,
Catching sight of it,
And I think I'm finally getting there
Slowly.
Slowly.

And it's taken all this time,
But now I'm here,
I don't know how to feel -
An old chapter of my life has been left to burn
And I suddenly feel left in the open,
So I think I'm going to have to take things
Slowly.

slowly.

Just for the moment.

Today,
one of my friends told me
'you look different.'

At first,
I didn't take note;
I was messed up and it's just one of those things;
I didn't have my glasses
and my hair looked different to how I usually style it.
'no,' she said, 'it's not that...'
but,
then I heard it again;
'you look different.'

I didn't know what else to say but;
'that's the second time I've heard that this morning! ha ha',
laughing off the funny coincidence.
I asked her what was different,
but she too couldn't say...

No one could tell me what it was,
but everyone I asked,
they all said it,
all of my closest friends
and someone I barely know anymore.

'you look different.'

and,
I was talking to my friend about it,
when I jokingly said;
'well maybe I'm just happier than usual! ha ha'
but she looked kinda sad.
My other friend said
'wait, relax your face',
so I did.
'yeah, that's it!'

'you look different.'

'no,' I thought 'you just aren't used to seeing me happy'

I want to scream.

no,
I need to scream.

Because crying can only get you so far
in the destruction of yourself
that after a couple hours,
it seems pointless.

I want to put a blade to my thighs
and cut.
I want to find a bottle
and drink.
I want to buy a gun
and point the barrel to the roof of my stupid mouth

and pull the trigger.

Some may call me impulsive,
some may call me an attention seeker
- as many I know have -
but I'm really just desperate.
That's all.
I'm just desperate for a release from the hell that I've created
that is spiralling way out of my control,
and has been for ten years of my short life.

I wouldn't care if I died tomorrow.
I really wouldn't.
Because I know that if I did,
my family would have one less thing to cry over at dinner time.

And, yes,
I know that they would cry at first,
but then they'd move on with their lives,
onto things that actually make them happy;

My mum could get home from work and not have to deal with my mood swings, making her cry.
And my sister would be able to focus on her talents without the burden of her little sister there, constantly holding her back and messing her up.
And my dad, would be able to stop pretending to be OK when I shut down his attempts at making me smile, which makes him depressed.

I can see what I'm doing,
and I want to scream.

I need to scream,
because if I don't,

I don't know how to stop this hell.

I'm *******,
in absolute tears
and wishing that I could take it back.
I want to just curl up
and blast music into my eardrums,
but I don't have my earphones
because they're in the same room as you.
And I cant just go in there,
pick them up and leave,
and I can't just listen to music without them;
it seems almost disrespectful
to do anything but
sit in my pitch-black room.
In silence.
That is what people will expect of me,
and I can't break the silence.
Even the sound of the buttons on my keyboard
are too loud that I'm scared someone will hear
and hate me even more than they do now.

God,
I'm such an idiot.

Why do I always do this?
people are just trying to be nice,
friendly, supportive.
They're my parents for ****'s sake!
why cant I manage to get out a sentence
that doesn't make my mother leave the kitchen table
so that she doesn't have to cry in front of her daughters?
That doesn't stop me from knowing though.
And all the while I spit venom from my mouth,
I think to myself;
you *******, you *******, you ******* *******,
look what you did.
LOOK WHAT YOU DID!
Why can't I just accept that I'm bad for everyone I love
and just cut to the chase
and **** myself
before anyone else gets hurt?

have you ever just lay in bed,
crying you heart out,
hugging a pillow because there is no one else who loves you,
and just prayed for everything to just
slow down?

I wish I could make things,
better.
I wish I -
why is this so.
Hard, I don't understand
why?

What was it about -
her.
Me. You. Said that I -  
I don't even.
Understand what -
I don't even know what,
I am going.
To.

Why did it,
have to be like.
This, I never.
We never -
could we just.
Try and. fix,
things. I don't.
I.
I don't, know.

I don't
know how to.
to, to -  
breathe.
I don't -

breathe.

I'm sorry, but how the hell is this my fault?

Something I've learned about people,
is that no-one really understands perspective.
Not everyone knows just how much **** I'm going through,
even though I try my best to help them understand.
And that it's no one else's fault.
And that it's OK for me to feel worse because of it.
Something I've learned about people,
is that you have to make a huge god-**** effort to get your point across.
Even though you could just as easily hold up a sign saying 'For ***** Sake, Help Me', most people are blind to it.
And that it's not that they don't care,
It's that they don't know how do deal with it.

Something I've learned about life,
is that it really isn't what it's cracked up to be.
Not everyone gets a good deal out of it, and not everyone can be happy, no matter how well off they are.
And that people don't mean to be oblivious,
And that even if you tell them that - they'll always forget.
Something I've learned about life,
is that everyone goes through ****.
Some people have it worse off than others, but everyone assumes that their **** was worse.
And that everyone needs to shut up and listen.
And that 'everyone' includes yourself.

Something I've learned about myself,
is that I can be so **** mean when I'm not careful.
That sometimes I just need to say it straight and not worry about the consequences.
And that sometimes, it's OK to cry.
And that I shouldn't be ashamed of that.
Something I've learned about myself,
is that I need to be aware of myself.
I should stop focusing on others, and start giving a **** about myself.
And that keeping it in is only temporary,
And that eventually, we all have to burst.

but what good does that do me?
None.
because I'm still a huge ******* mess.

You told me not to cry,
so I never will again.

I internalise my tears until they nearly overflow,
until I'm fit to burst,
and the strain could **** anyone who comes too close.
And pressed deep inside my heart,
those tears will turn to ice
that creeps like frost through my frozen blood.

And you ask me why my hands are cold.

Now I wont say I have a frozen heart -
because I'm not devoid of feeling.
But my lungs are tipped with ice
and my veins are the blue of frost,
the whites of my eyes are as weepingly white
as freshly fallen snow.
I don't know if I'm cold because of the weight I've lost
or whether I've just lost all of my heat.

I'm scared you'll warm my heart,
because I know that if you do
I wont be able to stop the tears from flowing,
and they'll never stop.

The ground is as cold as her hands are,
As cold as her tears in the snow.

This place, she calls it; The Weeping Willow,
Because all she ever does here is cry.

It's branches hang lovingly over her head,
It's leaves mirroring her hair over her face,
Mirrored by the water.

It's a wonder that the tree can even stand;
It's been watered with nothing but salt-water and heartbreak.


Surely something born from the broken
Should never be whole to start with.

Dear manipulative boyfriend,
I'm sorry that I never stood up for myself,
or commented on your sexist remarks,
or the daily jokes about mental health
or suicide.
I see now that that was my mistake,
I just never wanted to be "that feminazi *****" you always talked about.

Dear manipulative boyfriend,
I'm sorry that my depression made me suicidal,
because I know that that was such an inconvenience for you.
And that my anxiety was so bad that I had panic attacks at the thought of you loving someone else.
I see now that that was my mistake,
because I shouldn't have had feelings too.
How stupid of me.

Dear manipulative boyfriend,
I'm sorry that I didn't understand why you wouldn't come near me,
why you could only love me on your own terms,
or why you would go for days without looking at me.
I see now that that was my mistake,
because I shouldn't have though that I deserved love.

Dear manipulative boyfriend,
I'm sorry that you talked to my best friend behind my back,
when you wouldn't even look me in the eye.
All the times that you flirted with her,
and she flirted back.
I see now that that was my mistake,
because I should have known that I wasn't good enough for you.

Dear manipulative boyfriend,
I'm sorry that you broke up with me over text,
because you were "too much of a coward" to do it in person,
while you filmed the whole thing while your friend watched,
and laughed as my heart broke.
I see now that that was my mistake,
because I shouldn't have expected anything kinder.

Dear manipulative ex-boyfriend,
I'm sorry that my mental health was "just for attention",
and that I started to get better without you.
Or that I could actually laugh,
and smile,
and not hate myself for it.
I see now that that was my mistake,
I didn't deserve happiness.

Dear manipulative ex-boyfriend,
I'm sorry that you had to take away the last shred of hope I had,
that dumping me and destroying my reputation was so ******* you,
that when I tried to tell our friends why I couldn't be around you,
you made them drive me to tears,
and drive me away.
I see now that that was my mistake,
I should have known that you would infect them too.
It's like you were poisonous.

Dear manipulative ex-boyfriend,
I'm sorry that you turned my friends against me,
that you became violent and aggressive,
that you took out your anger about me on our shocked and confused friends,
that you thought you could treat everyone else just like you treated me.
I see now that that was my mistake,
because I should have done something to stop you before it was too late...








Dear his next girlfriend,
I'm sorry that I didn't try hard enough to show him that what he was doing was wrong,
you are strong enough to stand up to him.
I forgive you for going behind my back,
I knew it was coming from the start.
Remember that you are not alone,
and that you never really did made any mistakes,
because it wasn't your fault you were dating someone so toxic.

I love you,
and I will be here for you
when he breaks you.

I can't move,
And I can't breathe,
And my hands are shaking at the thought of starting to leave.
And I don't know if I want to say goodbye,
So please don't give me a reason why.

I'm the girl who ***** at sport and lies to get out of games.
I'm the girl who stresses too much, who spoils the moment.
I'm the girl that looks in the mirror and wants to cry because she can never look beautiful.
I'm the girl who has to fight with herself to breathe.
I'm the girl that can never be happy for her friends achievements
because she knows that she will never amount to anything.
I'm the girl that has breakdowns in class because she can't handle failure.
I'm the girl that curls up in a ball with her hands on her head and tries to block out the demons in her head.
I'm the girl that makes herself bleed.
I'm the girl that wishes she was dead.
Yeah,
I'm that girl.

But,
I'm the girl that people rely on.
I'm the girl that my friends ask for help from.
I'm the girl that gets perfect grades.
I'm the girl that is told she looks beautiful.
I'm the girl that people would **** to be.

But what they don't know is that that girl is killing me.

There are vines on my hands.
                                                          ­       -They're creeping up my spine-
They're twisted and they share wicked smiles
                                                      And­ their smiles aren't meant for me.
I wrap them around my fingers
                                                        ­Their darkness appealing as death,
With poison made of ink.
                                                         ~~~

I weave in flowers,
                                                        ­             They're painted all in black
In the hopes of distracting from how I'm trapped.
                                                        ­                      But I like it that way;
They're small and pathetic.
                                                       ­                     They're a mess like me.
                                                         ~~~

But it's not just the vines.
                                                          ­       There are eyes on my skin too
My hands are covered in everything I can't say.
                                                            ­       They watch my every move.
You just have to get close enough to look -
                                                                ­              - Watch out; they bite
They're hidden in the vines.

      The vines on my hands.                         *The vines on my hands.

I wish that I was dead.
The thought has scared me for as long as I can remember.
and it scares me because I'm terrified at how close the thought becomes reality each day.
At school; walking by the main road to class, building up the courage to throw myself into the busy traffic.
At home; the knowledge that there are razors in the room behind me.
At night; the morbid dream scenarios my mind creates.
I wish that I was dead.

I wish that I was dead.
But I don't want to feel the slow pain of suicide.
You have no idea how grateful I would be if someone could take the choice away from me - if I could be caught in a horrible accident, or develop a fast-acting and fatal disease.
And I know it sounds like a horrible thing to say, but I really do.
I wish that I was dead.

I wish that I was dead.
I cant do anything some days without screaming the words in my head.
IwishIwasdeadIwishIwasdeadIwishIwasdeadIwishIwasdead.
I know that so man people have it so much worse than me.
I know that I'm selfish.
I know that I would put the people I love through hell.
But,
I wish I was dead.

I wish I was dead.
I can't bear the pain I cause myself.
The pain I cause others.
The pain they cause me.
I could scream the truth to them in a pool of my own blood, and they would still ask; "why did you have to make such a mess?"
Nothing that I do matters anymore.
Nothing that I do is worth it now.
Even the things that I love hurt me endlessly.
I wish I was dead.

I wish I was dead.
The people I love and the people who love me.
They don't even realise that they **** me with every breath.
Every word.
Every heartbeat.
I know that they love me. Now.
but I'm not sure how much more of their punishment I can endure.
they don't even notice.
God,
I wish I was dead.

I wish I was dead.
And there is nothing that anyone can tell me that will change that. Not forever.
Because what I say, I mean with my whole heart;
I have loved.
I have been loved.
I have known true happiness,
and I have known true pain.
And still,
I wish that I was dead.

True pain is never something that you can see easily.

I sit there like a balloon, fit to burst,
and no one even turns their head.
I've been pushed, and pushed, and pushed and pushed andI'mjustsogoddamntiredofitallandIjustwanttoscream.
How can they not have noticed?
I mean, it's not like I'm trying to hide it,
I'm long past that.
Do I really mean that little to them that they never noticed me before?
Have I always looked as depressed on the outside as I am on the inside?
I know they care - I know they do.
I just need them to notice me for once.
notice me when I need them most.

I don't know what will set me off,
or how explosive I'll be when it does;
Once I start, I'm never really sure that I can stop.
Will it be the picture of upset, my hands linked behind my head, legs drawn close, unable to stop the tears from spilling out of my painfully red eyes - uncontrollable sadness.
Or will it be screaming anxiety, my claws finding their usual tearing spots in my scalp, my body trembling with the effort of not screaming at the top of my lungs and falling to literal pieces on the polished floors.
Or will it be like last-time; small, silent self-pitying.
unnoticeable.
The kind that come out of no-where and takes you by surprise, that you cant do anything about or someone will see, the kind that you hide with your hands whilst pretending that you're getting on with your work and not wishing that you were dead.

you never know with me - it's just one of the many flaws of my mind.
so please - please - just notice me now.

Cushions at the window,
and bed-spreads on the floor,
sits a girl with chestnut hair,
staring at the walls;
she's quiet and she's funny,
she's pretty and she's smart,
but she feels the things that you don't say,
and it hurts her bleeding heart.

Cause she don't know,
oh no she don't;
she don't know that her smile lights up the room
and that her light can carry far.
And she don't know,
and she don't care
that every time she hides her tears
her pretty face goes bare.

Sadness shapes her figure
and tear-stains ***** her cheeks.
she sits alone on a bathroom floor -
it's been happening all **** week.
Her friends wouldn't understand;
cause it's something she keeps inside,
so she runs downstairs to the girls bathroom -
'cause it's something she tries to hide.

cause she don't know,
oh no, she don't;
she don't know that her smile lights up the room
or that her light can carry far.
And she don't know,
and she don't care
that every time she hides her tears
her pretty face goes bare.

And she don't know.

I'm trapped in a room with no restraints
but my wrist are bleeding in their chains,
ah, ah.
ah, ah.
And the tears are streaming down my face,
but my cheeks are drier in their place,
ah, ah.
ah, ah.

because every time I run out the room
I stumble back in,
my hands are tied and my patience tried
and I'm wearing quite thin,
Now, I'm not one for wasting time
so I'll keep it all in
in the chains that I built
of my sin.

Oh, these walls are like a stranger to me;
they show me my face, but it's not me that I see,
ah, ah.
ah, ah.
I curl up in bed with my legs drawn close
because it's the simple things that I need the most.
ah, ah.
ah, ah.

because every time I run out the room
I stumble back in,
my hands are tied and my patients tied
and I'm wearing quite thin.
Now, I'm not one for wasting time,
so I'll keep it all in
in the chains that I built
of my sin.

because every time I ran out that room
and I stumbled back in,
my courage froze as my eyelids closed;
It's been wearing quite thin.
Now, I know I'm loved, but I can't breathe,
I can't take it all in.
so I'm trapped,
tearing pieces
off
my
skin.

My tears on a pillow,
my heart on a page,
and no-one knows how I've tried to escape this cage.
Do they even know my name?
Or am I just know by the times I've let out my pain?

Throw open the darkness
and let me in,
shout up to the heavens about my sins.
No, don't you dare tell me
to bear this pain;
I want you to promise me
that you'll remember my name.

Something is dying
inside my soul,
but no-one cared when my spirit died long ago.
Is it worth waiting for God above?
I wonder if I was with him,
would I feel loved?

*Throw open the darkness
and let me in,
shout out to the heavens about my sins.
No, don't you dare tell me
to bear this pain;
I want you to promise me
that you'll remember my name.

Okay?
how can anything be okay?

It's not that I don't laugh,
or that I don't want to.
It's not that I don't smile,
or that I can't.

It's just that I'm sad.
Just overwhelmingly sad.
and it's suffocating.

Inside, I love you.
But, outside, I can't.

I thought I'd hit my lowest point,
that I had nowhere left to sink,
that the darkest place I could ever reach
was stuck within my finger-tips.

But I can see the light shining through
from behind fingers solidly stuck,
And I guess I didn't have much to loose
before I could build myself back up.

You leave me spluttering,
dizzy, disorientated.
You came out of nowhere,
you took me by surprise.
I tried to stop you,
tried to smother you,
tried to cover you up,
but I couldn't breathe,
I couldn't speak, couldn't scream for help.
I was choking.
you made one thought consume my body;
'please just... stop.'
And eventually you did,
and I never want to see you again -
it's bad enough that I still have your mess to clean up.
I hate you,
I hate you like a nosebleed.

Before I fell,
Did you realize you had my life in your hands?
Or how it would feel to loose it?
Did you wish that you had stopped me?
wish that you had caught me
just
         before
                        I
                               fell?

She sits on empty train station platforms at night,
her dreams drifting away in the chilling night breeze,
her legs dangling over the side of the platform.

She plays her music, soft and slow, in the tree-tops at night,
humming along tunelessly with her eyes to the moon,
her hair lashing her rosy, red cheeks in the breeze.

She lies on a bench by a soft-sung lake at night,
her sparkling eyes gazing into the dark-night skies,
the water gently lapping against it's bank.

She walks through empty village streets at night,
her footsteps echoing into silence of darkness,
her arms hugging her shoulders from the crisp night air.

She sits on grey-brick walls with knees pulled up tight,
watching people push into each other, swearing loudly, thinking;
'things are so much quieter at night'

"what doesn't **** you makes you stronger."
Is that what you say?

So,
When I was lying in bed, covered in my own blood, choking on my despair. When it hurt too much to speak or eat because there was no skin left on my lips. When they were so messed up at school the next day that I had to lie to my friends, that I had to lie about the scars that I'd caused, the scars that I would tear off when I was upset, only to be replaced by deeper ones.
Does that sound *strong to you?

So,
When my arguments at home were so bad that my mother thought I hated her, that when I tried to apologise I broke down for fear of messing up and making things worse. When my father stormed into my room, finding me in tears and hyperventilating yet still screamed at me for making my mother cry. When I passed out, waking in my mothers arms on my bedroom floor with my sister and father having a screaming match. When everyone was crying but me because I was so far past crying that I couldn't breathe.
So you think that was strong?

So,
When my best-friend turned against me, jealous that I had known our shared friends longer, claiming that I hit and bullied her, that I abused and threatened her, leaving me friendless and alone in a class of people that I'd never thought to become closer to. When I was called to see the head teacher, confused and eager to look after someone I called my best-friend, but was accused of smashing her head against a brick wall and dragging her across the floor and I was too stunned to defend myself, and ended up having multiple panic attacks, and sat there blubbering like a fool, thinking that I was going to be expelled over my best-friend's lies.
Do you think I felt strong?

So next time you hear someone say,
"oh, well, what doesn't **** you makes you stronger!"
tell them,
to shut the hell up.

We fight.
We always fight.
And it always ends in me leaving,
Me yelling,
me slamming the door,
me crying.
And I hate that I'm so hard to deal with,
and I'm sorry...

I yell.
I always yell.
And it always ends up in you pleading,
you crying,
you apologising,
you shouting.
And I hate it when you cry,
and I'm sorry...

You try.
You always try.
And it always ends with us crying,
us hugging,
us forgiving
us talking.
And I hate that it takes so long for me to say;
*'I'm sorry.'

You stalk the wood on fleeting foot,
your ruff a misty grey,
like silent death, you hunt your ****
your eyes fixed on your prey.

Your lips drawn back, a silent snarl,
a growl caught in your throat,
your teeth sunk into now-still flesh,
dark blood stains on your coat.

You stalk the shade of empty woods,
as graceful as your ****,
look to the moon, my friend, and howl
as silent woods grow still.

Smokey musk of mist-soaked moss
by roving river bank,
where dainty doe stands tall and fair
where long-lost love once sank.

Dew-soaked coat 'mungst moonlit woods
a chestnut, hazel brown.
She stalks the brooks, thin, lithe and cool
where once-loved life was drowned.

She walks his path from long ago,
her shadow echoes loss,
"goodbye," she whispers, "I'll miss you so."
as she fades into the moss.

Voice as smooth as liquid silk
with beauty as subtle as the dew,
eyes as pure as a cloudless sky,
and those eyes are fixed on you.

Her words hold weight of a thousand years,
but her body is young and strong,
her whispered prayers will keep you calm,
with her words she can do no wrong.

Her wings so long they sweep the earth,
so pure and white they glow,
her strength is drawn from holy ground,
her grace is soft and slow.

Take her hand and hear her song,
her footsteps silent as night
upon mountain grass, she rides the breeze
as her wings soar into flight.

Staring at walls,
her face drained of joy.
Legs pulled close,
chin on knees,
hair draped over her face.

Empty.
She's so, so empty.

Didn't anyone ever notice her?
Not even when she didn't laugh once?
Not even when she didn't laugh at all?

Shrinking in her despair.
A vibrant world
gone in the blink of her sad eyes,
lost to the shadows in her face,
stuck staring at walls.

Waiting.
She's so sick of waiting.

Did no-one hear her silence?
Not even when she didn't reply once?
Not even when she didn't reply at all?

living death she feels,
her neck still damp from drying tears.
Holding back her sobs,
fighting back her tears,
fighting with the walls.

Lonely,
she's just so ******* lonely.

Didn't anyone miss her smile?
Not even when she didn't smile once?
Not even when she stopped smiling for good?

Staring at walls,
her face drained of joy.
Tear strained,
skin as pale as death,
razor in hand.

*Done,
she's finally done...

have you seen my skin?
my skin is rough and worn;
It's covered in scars from the pains of my past.
The skin on my knuckles are angry and red,
the skin on my lips is torn and chapped.
no-one notices my skin until it bleeds,
maybe that's not enough.
maybe I'm not enough...

But what's worse than my scars are the wounds of today,
pouring out beneath my skin.
no-one can see them,
but that doesn't mean that they're not there.
But no-one wants to see.
And no one wants to care.
No-one wants to take my hand and see my scars, my knuckles, my wounds, my lips and love my skin for what it is.
but no-one wants to touch my skin,
and no-one wants to look at my skin.

My skin is rough and worn and cold and scarred
but my skin is still beautiful.
Now do you see my skin?