She sat in her bed,
that awful bed.
Full of tears, blood, and broken dreams.

As her eyes slowly dried up from the constant pain.
Not physical pain no it was much worse,
for she was full of self-hate and what felt like an emotional curse.

She put on her headphones and closed her eyes.
Her eyelids showed color and rhythm.
The beat engrossed her as she forgot the fights, the yelling, and the terrible pain,
it flew away as she envisioned a life of hope, love, and one without chains.


She sat there as long as she could,
For she knew as soon as she opened her eyes that the vision would shatter.
She would open her eyes to see that bare room,
with seemingly grey walls.
Whereas, with music, she could be anywhere.
She could be in a boy’s arms,
she could be hugged by a loving family,
she could be lying on her best friends lap,
laughing and forgetting the world around them.

But when she was home it was cold;
there was no warmth.

She was always alone with tears that performed.
Her skin was always wet from them like it had just stormed.

And as the song that reminded her of the life that she had never had reached its end,
the colors faded,
and the rhythm slowed,
As she walked back up from that envisioned road.

She opened her eyes,
and looked down,
at those god awful hands.
She was ashamed of her life,
and at the end of the song
she raised her knife.