The darkness is blinding, and the silence is deafening.
I am a victim to my own mind. Abused by all it's power.
Don't try and fix me, for I am to broken.
Don't try and save me, for I am already dead.
I'm walking among the living.
Watching their smiles, and laughs and motions.
I try to smile, but it's to broken to see.
The monster is feeding, consuming me.
My thoughts are hazed, my eyes are wet. My wrists are bloody, my heart is a wreck.
Suffocated by life, broken down from the pressure.
Isolated from society, and a freak of all nature.
Painting a picture, for her eyes only. In the dark alone, where her thoughts are dreary and lonely.
Her picture is finished, and paint is all over. Only for her to find out, her wrist was her canvas, and her brush was her razor.
Not a soul sees the scars, for they are hidden under sleeves.
Not a soul sees the pain, for it is hidden under a convincing smile.
Not a soul sees her, for she has lost her self battle.
