N I N E
her face was ruined
her eyes looked dead
her body was weak
her mind felt dread
it was repeating again
she'd cried out in vain
as she dragged the blade
across the ones that'd fade
what has she done?
who has she become?
someone other then herself
someone who wouldn't ask for help
she wanted it to go away
the voices; but they are here to stay
so she took one last look
as she prepared to close the book
all would be fine
all would be great
because that day, at nine
she gave into what just wouldn't wait
YOU ARE READING
slowly drowning
Poetry"why do they use butterflies to describe that feeling, when it actually feels like moths?" my poetry, short stories, and other things.
