The mind of that girl is a pain sanctuary
whose aching decreases due to a world that's imaginary.

From home she goes out to get away,
and all those nights in stranges she relies.

The soft morning breeze
tenderly dries the tears in her cheeks,
and childishly it peeks
through her bloodshot eyes looking for a trace of peace.

Nobody could really tell
if she, bones and flesh, is still alive
or if she's just a wanderer ghost.
Probably the only one of her kind.

The dark circles under her eyes
are a proof of the restless crying nights.

The tangled auburn messed up hair
tells she didn't sleep at home, but no one cares.

Picking up flowers on the way back home,
humming songs that once made her feel whole.
She rests for a few hours and once awake she grabs a pen,
she writes down a poem before she gets drunk again.

Somehow she finds calm
in the simple things of life,
and she tries not to think
about the coldness in her eyes.

Barely getting through, day by day,
trying not to be absorbed by all the grey.

Amassing countless heartbeats
to the final point where life she quits.

Hello,
To your smile that killed
My suicidal daily,
When your zest filled my
Inner clarity
And gave form to destiny,
Not anyone road,
But your soul that touches many,
The guft that is you,
I bit of the nectar that your
Light feeds,
I am grateful
Even for the pain of missing
You now,
Friend of my deepest wound,
Cut me and I bleed your crimson
Catastrophe,
Because even your worst
Was the very best I
Felt,
The narcissistic venture,
I stayed because you allowed it.

I think
as artists
we owe a lot to pain.

Put on
a robe of thorns
and write

about the nice weather outside
and that delicious burger
you had today.

Write about happiness
when you're in pain-
beauty.