Canvas of Emotions: Painted in Poetry

The Death of Innocence

The Struggle for Freedom in the Wake of a Broken Past

A scared little girl, with nowhere to run, had been alone in this world, never having felt love. I begged to be numb, over it, just done. But as she departed, I felt different.

She is dead. I killed her. She is no longer here. It was her or me. I killed myself, so I could be free.

The one who was always too scared to let go, the baby girl who always did whatever she was told. She faked her smile, could never say no, and believed she had to love harder when people were cold. Raised in a world where control equaled worth, discipline equaled enough, and praise was the currency of success. Her ideas of affection and love were twisted because she was taught to feel loved through abuse.

She's dead. I killed her. She is no longer here. It was her or me. I killed myself, just so I could be free.

And if you ever loved her, don't cry for her now. She cried out for help, and you let her drown. She fought hard, earned her crown. Yes, she is gone, only so I'm still around. My deepest regards to you, my friend, if your search led you here, to the end. She fought long and hard, gave her best, and left us with her soul so she could finally rest.

She's dead. I killed her. She is no longer here. It was her or me. I killed myself, just so I could be free.

I wanted to save her, so I closed my eyes. I can't make her live when I want to die. She hoped for peace, so I had to oblige. She died so I could have a healthy life. I had her buried in the prettiest place, on a hill, by the ocean, in my happy space. There she will stay, dressed only in lace, peaceful, relaxed, and completely encased.

At last, her prayers were received. I was tired of hurting, so she was relieved. When it comes my time, just do like I did. Please let me go, but continue to live.