Change has a strange way of happening all at.
Once.
There was a tale that believed to be never ending.
Built on pillars that boasted victory from the sands of time.
Only the stormss onslaught continued.
battering any life daring enough to venture out.
An incessant cycle of death.
One that only grew more ravenous with every meal.
Only to discover that the beast turned machine some time ago.
Just as the landscape did.
Leaving the inside as vacant as yesterday's tears.
And so the tale concluded.
Not with bang.
Or A crash.  
But a whisper.
No grand exit.
And no goodbye.
For its only a chapter in this ever growing novel of disappointment.
And with welcoming arms does the darkness insist.
The right choice was always so obvious.
And now perspective is all that's left.
So one must ask.
Has hells chains ever been removed.
Or has the minds eye been shut all this time..

They call me no face, the one without a place. My emotions are hidden, there's not so much as a trace.

Blank slate, white face. You'll never know how I feel or even if that laugh was real.

This is not who I choose to be..I use to be a girl with a heart of gold, but now I'm just a ghost and the gold's turned to stone.

My smile stays in place but it doesn't reach my eyes, no matter how hard I try, it's drowned by the tears that I cry.

There's an ache in my chest that reminds me that I'm not the best, and for some reason I can get rid of the thoughts in my head that make me question if I should be alive or dead.

My heart spills to a blade on my hip and my brain with an ink tip.

I am constantly lost somewhere between depression and suicidal rage. Almost if my common sense was locked in a cage, gnawing at the edges of my brain but it's no use, my condition stays the same.

Blank slate, white face. You'll never know how I feel, behind a mask my emotions I do conceal.

When the measure is of a greater
worth than that which is measured,
we will diminish.
The grammar of our time will
be perfect.
Our words will be so refined,
but meaning will be
impossible to find.

The length of us will be the last of us,
the depth of us will be lost on us,
and finally we will be perfect.
Finally we will be empty.

We will live for the moment,
but each moment will be sparse,
we will diminish.
Each thought will be magnificent
in structure.
Our hold on “reality” will be firm.
impossible to transgress,
impossible to learn.

The length of us will be the last of us,
the depth of us will be lost on us,
and finally we will be perfect.
Finally we will be empty.

The pills do not work like promised,
For the thoughts still remain.
They have accomplished little,
Other than to drive me insane.

I feel myself becoming emotionless,
The medication smothers my ability to feel.
It helps me to endure this situation,
But it allows no room to heal.

But these blue pills, at least they are something,
Something to ease my suffering.
These many bad nights have left me terrified,
For I am prone to shuddering.

Having hindered emotions
Is better than feeling anxious or depressed.
So I will take this treatment even if
Happiness also suffers in the pursuit of rest.

My Mother told me to watch out for the boys
Who will tear my heart into pieces
Just because they can.
But what if I'm just like these boys
a heartbreaker
Who can't love
Just because she was raised to not be a delicate *****.
Well, Mom..
I guess you got yourself a heartless, emotionless daughter.