How can a soul like hers, be trapped in this place
Yelling and screaming, hitting and threatening
You might as well call it hell
Every day, she breaks a little
Her pieces fall down and shatter
She would try to pick them up if she could
But they are sharp shards of glass
Too small to be put back together
Every night, her soul would be a trigger
To the daggers and knives which are thrown at her
By the demons that live inside of her
She can't control them; she bleeds every time because of them
A shiny razor touches her cold, pale skin
Because of them, her screams come out as blurred lines
Calling for help, but as soon as someone approaches her
She hides and her fears take over her mind
And her thoughts get clouded by their dark laughs
***
YOU ARE READING
My Writing & Poems in a Small Book
RandomA group of my random writing and poems. Not the best poet or writer, but it was one of the ways for me to escape everything. Hope you enjoy them :)
