Morris.
She'd cut every vein,
She'd done every drug,
She'd fucked every boy (and girl),
She'd had enough alcohol to kill a man.
She'd been through death,
She'd been through torture,
She'd been through abuse,
She'd been through her phases.
She'd tried love,
She'd tried God,
She'd tried suicide.
She was your typical, 16 year old scumbag.
She was no longer sad.
She was no longer mad.
She was no longer depressed or stressed.
She was no longer human.
She was numb and dead inside, had been for a long while.
She knew no prince charming would come alone and bring life to her.
She wouldn't let them.
She wasn't important enough for suicide.
She was just...there.
All of her attempts failed, anyways.
She had never been happy in her life, not even as a young child.
She tried forcing her own happiness.
She just didn't feel things anymore, no matter how much she longed to.
She was curious as to what happiness felt like.
"I'd sell my soul to Satan to know." She'd always mutter.
Little did she know that I was listening all along.
