𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒

𝖺 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍

Sometimes there is this small but persistent feeling when I begin to feel the hurt of broken shards in the air against my head and I suddenly feel the urge to wipe off the blood of unseen tears and silent screams escaping from the hole in my skin and I can't stop but lookout for voices that may help lookout for my mother in the breaking and shattering noise of silence in the
dark of my room.

I've created an ocean of blood and skin and bones all of them are spread on the carpet and the stains are black and blue, I feel for his skin on mine but all I feel is cold ice rubbed against my palms.

I don't feel silent but I feel emotions that
weave cocoons for me to hide from
this world of chaos and no sympathy.

Emotions that fight me in the dark and
win the unfair victory of being
superior in my head.

Amid the cold in my room, I feel bland
and empty looking for a savior's hand,
the glory of being saved and blessed but 

all I feel is the numbness of black and
blue scars on the skin carpet
sprawled on the floor beneath
the ocean of blood, that hid
broken pieces of a blown heart.