Copyright, Asha

No one saw the change,
or even cared to look.
She sat there smiling everyday,
slowly dieing on the inside.

Her mind was slipping
through her fingers,
passing from sane
down the slope to insane.

Everyday she hoped,
begged to wake up dead.
Every night she lied awake
and begged to die.

She used to get angry,
used to get sad.
Now she feels nothing,
but hollow and empty.

She doesn’t cry anymore,
she tries but she can’t.
She’s just too numb
to show any emotion.

Everyday she looks around
to all the people passing by,
but she can’t see their faces,
blurred out by the pain.

She didn’t have a way with word,
she couldn’t paint or draw.
She had no way of telling how she felt,
so she wore it on her wrists.

Nothing very deep,
but enough to run red.
Feeling pain and anger before,
for release and comfort after.

Nothing healing very fast.
She spent weeks trying
and trying to hide
all the secrets her arms told.

This time it was different,
it wasn’t like the others.
She wasn’t sad or angry,
just too tired to go on.

There was no emotion,
nothing left inside.
Just a hollow, empty shell,
only just existing.

She felt she had to tell them,
something, and anything just to let them know.
Only three small words:

For once she felt in control,
they couldn’t stop her now.
It was her choice,
her life.

She shivered from the steely cold;
she felt her heart begin to race.
The blood pumping,
soon to flow red.

As she presses down,
she felt the sting.
Further and further,
deeper and deeper.

This time it was for real.
Not like the others,
just scraping the surface.
She felt everything split in two.

She knew by the time
when they found her there,
it would be over.
She would be free.

It was over.
They would move on.
She would be forgotten,
a distant memory.

The confusion had stopped,
the pain had ended.
Nothing remained,
she was gone.


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