She no longer felt a pure feeling of animosity inside of her,
Like all of her power had just floated out of her body,
Leaving her dead inside.
Nostalgia, heart-break, a longing for a kind soul of pure comfort.
With these wishes she felt herself burying her emotionless body even further into the pit of despair that had lived inside of her soul for many years now.
She covered the pit over with fake feelings of hope, happiness and self confidence,
Leaving her hopeless at the bottom,
She was buried deep in the pit of despair which inhabited her every emotion,
Isolated from everyone around.
She'd been heartbroken too many times before,
And she could not enjoy things how she used to any longer,
Because she was no longer ready to take the world by storm,
But to take the long rope,
Made from despair, self-pity, depression and the lost hope that wondered from her that very night,
Wrap it around her neck,
And disintegrate into nothing but a memory and a gravestone,
Like she never really existed at all.

I carved a
crescent
into my skin
because I am
much like
a half moon.
I only show
half of
myself
because the
rest is disguised.
Covered.
And I lie to
the rest of
the world.
I carved a
crescent
into my skin
because I am
much like
a half moon.
I am scared
to be myself
and I am
over-shadowed
by something
*better.

There are things from day-to-day that make me sad.
Things such as grey skies with very few birds,
deserted paths and benches in result of the frosty spiteful cold.
The leaves falling off of the tree's due to the change of season,
like their losing their home's and been replaced by brighter,
better things.
The elderly man or woman sitting alone, eating alone, walking alone,
or an elderly couple walking arm in arm, hand in hand.
A flower dying, or losing a pretty petal,
and this petal gracefully floating off in the wind, into the deep, vast nothingness,
of the universe beyond our eyes and ears and the arm's stretch.

But there are things that make me happy,
it's funny how the world can give you so many mixed emotions, just by the things you see around you.

She brushes her hair,
Before going to bed.
Takes the mask,
From upon her face.

She lines her pillows,
Perfectly inline.
Resting her head,
And her aching bones.

She thinks about her day,
Falling asleep.
She buries her head,
Deep in her pillows.

Thunderstorms and rain,
Wind and sun.
And she’s still alive,
All of these years later.

And why is she still alive?
Because the universe is her friend.
Her only friend?
Maybe.