A ******* the brink of breaking,
faking her way to the top of the pile of all the dead before her.
Drinking to escape it,
she fights her way through the words,
looking for a cure.

All the names they call her,
ugly, fat, ****, *****.
What doesn't **** her,
just breaks her down more.

All the people telling her,
"you're okay",
are the people that help break her down anyway.

Why should she listen?
Why should she give them the satisfaction?

The bruises on her skin,
the voices from within,
the cutting, scratching,
and tearing of her precious skin,
is causing her to bleed,
is causing her to feel just a little bit better.

But better never lasts forever.

The evil within her,
is starting to **** her,
she crumbling under the pressure.

The puzzle pieces don't fit,
I guess that this is it,
she crumbled under the pressure.

Nothing lasts forever.