it was pink then yellow then purple,
then it darkened and slowly turned black.
it wasnt the sharp pain that killed her,
but the numbing chill that crept up her poor scrawny neck.
it wasnt knives and swords that stabbed her heart,
but splinters of loneliness that were carefully woven around it.
it wasnt that she didnt seek help at all,
but there was so much, she didn’t know where to begin.
it wasnt the map that made her lost,
but it was the rain and the wind and the places she didnt belong.
it wasnt the people round her that drove her up the wall,
but the cockroaches of love that rampaged on the floor.
it was pink, then yellow then purple,
and suddenly it lightened and it didn’t feel so bad, after all.
Things always feels the worst in that moment of sadness and depression, but when we look back, we would realise that the once gruesome monsters have become nothing but small edgy stones.