Miniscule and tender
Not much can offend her,
not much can phase the girl
Will Peace ever try to befriend her?

Melancholic and complacent
Her bygones always adjacent
to the being that she can be.
But you can’t say where her grit went.

Strength and tenacity
Replaced with insanity?
Knows not if “it’s a part of me”
but it’s sure got authority.

Introspective and aware
Forms herself an untouched lair
Carefully crafts and moulds so
she cannot be found in there.

She digs, and she burrows,
No hope for tomorrow,
Just an empty darkness,
An empty dark sorrow.

Tight and confined,
Yet far from blind.
Suffocated and held captive
by the subconscious mind

Nothing left to lose,
a choice to choose,
The rocky road to recovery
Or a bruise, some blues, and *****.