Another morning where the sun hasn't shined and her world is grey,
and her soul is tired and she can't think of a reason to stay;
instead she carves her skin with a thin thread of metal,
slicing words of malice on her thighs while it stings like a nettle.
Another hour of lying collapsed on the bathroom floor,
she's given in to the voices once more
and purged her body of everything within;
so full of hatred of the body she is in.
She began this civil war in hopes of maintaining control,
but in the end she's been consumed by the demons in her soul.