Your soft skin is tearing,
Your voice is cracking, trying to sing.
Your hands are shaking, cold chillings runs down your spine.
No escape,
No place to hide.
Inside, you're dying, fighting for the smallest sliver of hope.
You died in that cocoon, you never became a butterfly.
Knifes are ordinairy now, you know them all too well.
As they cut and damage your resolve, you suddenly know it and it occurs to you...

Death is coming for you, it talks, whispers even:
''Go back to sleep my child, you've sufferd enough...''

You see through my foolish pride,
And you save me in the mist of my troubles,
You rescued me of things i should be burned with..
But you took my sin and hung it on the cross,
you drank my cup, and you sufferd...i dont deserve your grace...
i dont deserve your grace...

I never represented my self as truth,
in any one's front but i do,
i open myself in front of you,
if i am hurted please try to understand,
why i am presenting me like that;
why i want your hand,
to hold my hands and my chin,
to put it front of your face,
am broken please make it trace,
on your eyes and see what i sufferd and what i am suffering,
these are not things these are feelings,
it alters and at the peak when it must be not,
to go upto the extent of beyond the thought,
numbness it's not i created,
i fought with situations and they not demonstrared,
that i am lieying in my aches,
am trying to stand up see it and believe it with truth and upcoming changes, if you have any query want any change,
just speak once i'll make upto my ability base,
nothing is dull against the beats,
but keep it in your mind that it bleads,
when the beats are not understood,
behind every reason there is a story that you should,
and must know
being my love just never let me go

She lied there that day. All I now picture, is blood stains from unwanted needle work, and eyes redly diluted from sufferd pain.

She starved herself that day!
Not from food!
But Hypoxia. ❤❤