The neglect of others had torn her apart
to the point where she had stuffed
her bullet holes with paper towels
that filled with blood
the wounds would open again
But that did not stop her
No it didn't stop how she wrote
about love and depression hiding behind
the closed door of her broken home
at two in the morning
She stared at the ceiling
there were blood stains
mold surrounding the holes in the walls
Still she fell in love
she had hope
she believed in a better life
with every **** thing she had in her
And it broke her