She sits alone amongst her thoughts,
Fingers absently directing pen across paper
In hopes to show someone the words caught
In her throat - that which threatens to break her.
In a silent room, the pen screams what her voice cannot
While ink defines the help she craves
As the night swallows her in naught -
A blissful reprieve from a tired heart's chains.
Her soul colors the paper in black script,
The words scrawled across the surface in a plea
That her pride shan't allow past trembling lips,
One that she fears of trusting others to see.
Her voice of ink flows from veins of internal torment,
Desperately reaching for a kind, loving hand
As she falls deeper within her mind,
Begging for someone to understand -
