She was always the bully,
Her own reputation her goal to sully.
She was cruel to herself,
And to those who believed her.
So she took the steps,
And relieved herself from all she ever had.
She snarled,
She snapped,
She pushed them away.
She never allowed any small comforts,
Night or day.
She began to give her possessions away,
Preparing for the end of her days.
Because where she was going nothing could follow,
It was a though that made it hard to swallow.
But that lump in her throat began to fade,
As she thought of all the progress she'd made.
The people she'd saved,
While she only began to raze.
She thought of the lives she'd fixed,
Dragging her deeper into the mix,
Of depression and anger that swelled inside.
Of the knife that had slid,
Against pale skin.
Of the healed scars on her acquaintances wrists,
While hers only grew in number,
And even her slumber began to suffer.
She dreamt of days long gone,
When her only goal had been to have fun.
She dreamt of the voice inside her head,
Which pounded within as much as she bled.
'Monster.' It whispered,
Taunting her every thought.
Making her believe,
Which had come as a relief.
She finally had a reason,
To just give up and sleep.
A sleep stained in red,
While she lied on her bed.
Knife in hand,
Her eyes quite bland.
The voice cheers,
And jeers.
Because it had won,
Before the battle had really begun.
See she had always been the bully,
Her own reputation to sully.
And she'd finally got her wish,
And she drowned,
In that lake of fire,
And
She
Feel
Even
Farther.
Because, she had always been the bully.
And if there was a hell,
It had claimed its prize,
When the glaze covered her eyes.
Because she was the bully,
And her time was spent.
YOU ARE READING
Stitches
PoetryThey held her mouth shut. They whispered in her ear and bled into her heart. But she never knew where to start. These feelings that she just wants to be done, They sit in the back of her mind like a loaded gun. So she squeezes the trigger a litt...
