Such sorrowful mourning for a soul so dead,
A heart battered, shattered, abused,
A person who failed to blank voices in her head,
she tried to hide every self-inflicted bruise.
Tormented daily by her own cry for the blade,
She tried to deafen herself from silent screams,
But no mask could cover the scars that shes made,
Nor the demons that haunt her broken dreams.
Abused in her body, but her mind in control,
Each carving shows her weaker stage,
Only herself can begin to extol,
The marks she makes, while locked in her cage.
Tears forever flowing, a crimson lake of pain,
But this trail is hidden from everyones sight,
Shes left to fall silently, going insane,
Traveling the very same Circe each night.
Hidden beneath tear stained bet sheets,
She watches as time causes only more hurt,
She feels the blades pleasure, her life on repeat,
How she longs for this curse to revert.
Abuse is her calling, her only relief,
Her escape from her suppressed tears,
It causes an aftermath of only grief,
But it makes her existence more clear.
