I feel a chill in my spine that clings to my skin, embracing me from behind and whispering into my ear. "It's all pointless, really". The soft mumbles that echo in my head make me wonder what would happen.

What would happen if I stepped in front of the oncoming car?

What would happen if  I no longer exhausted myself day in and day out for nothing more than a B+?

What would happen if I could go back to being a blank nothing?

As I am writing this, tender tears are falling gently down my swollen face, cupping my cheeks and embracing me with such close contact.

It's such a cold warmth that surrounds me.

I started writing this poem in 2019,
I never published it though. Obviously.
I want to know what went wrong along the way
and why my friends couldn't stay
and why I have to pay
for a ****** today.

Its spring now,
The bright rays of sun
Break through clusters of
Heavy, grey clouds.

No longer will the overcast
Sky threaten to ******* away.

From here I float, enjoying the
Muffled bird songs from under
Thick sheets of unbreaking ice
Where I will drown in silence.

I can smell the freshly cut grass,
the earthy scent welcoming me
to the new season;

I can hear the chirping of birds,
singing their melodies across
the warm summer sky;

I can see the bright beams of light,
each ray enchanting the world
around me, banishing the darkness
and despair;

I can feel the cool breeze brushing
against my scarred skin,
soothing old burns as it billows in
from the North;

I can taste the freedom now that
I've opened my windows,
expelling the nothingness which
used to haunt me... dragging me
to the daunting, dingy depths of
my deprived mind but now it's
different - I'm different.

For years I let you mold me,
   scared of letting time do its job.
I remained sheltered in your grasp,
   pushed into shape by your palms.
Each word you said sculpted my mind
   as you scraped away into my cracks,
   etching smile lines where my freedom once was.
But now your hands no longer cover my eyes,
I can see my reflection.

Brown, broken and ugly.

Sometimes I wonder how much you think of me,
was my birth a hindrance to your wellbeing
and am I now just another burden to bare?

I don't know.

I've searched for love for a long time now,
not the kind which burns in your chest,
lighting embers that shine bright with desire,
but the kind which cradles you with the soft warmth
which radiates only from the tender embrace of family.

I don't know...

You used to assure me that I was special,
your special little soldier
but now I may have been court-martialed
as I am no longer your little girl,
I am a cracked portrayal of my old shell
with nothing inside my hollow chest
but a withered hope.

I now know,
it's never going to be the same.

I struggle to voice my thoughts,
each consonant lost somewhere;
stuck between my lips and throat,
each intended syllable lies dormant
and waiting.

Even when I pass the threshold of speech
all that comes out is a jumble of pleasantries
constructed by my forefathers,
their forefathers
and those before them.

For now, I am bound to my pen,
the inky tears have stained my skin
and I am still standing.
The thick fog which obscures my voicebox
can't obstruct the flow in which my thoughts spill
violently onto the page.

They can't know,
I won't let them know.
The lilies which blossom,
emerging from the dark,
murky waters of my heart
are to be culled.
Each sinful petal burned,
the crisp ashes blown into the wind,
never to be seen again.

They wouldn't understand
the pulsing pain that drives me,
it drums in my ears constantly
silencing each rotten thought
before they bloom into something more:
something unsightly.

I used to hold your hand,
remember?
I was drawn to your comfort,
wrapping my cold fingers
around your blazing warmth.

You thawed my icy chest,
cradling the soft wick within
with such tentative love.
I was sure it would re-light.
Desperately so.

Assured by our covenant,
I waited for the embers
and even now I lie dormant
awaiting your flame
in the ashes.