Five Hundred-Twenty Four

She sat alone.
Alone and at home
Where her screams were silent
but her mind was violent.
Her insecurities hid deep inside
and they did indeed eat her alive.
A tear rolled down her face
as her heart began to race.
She took her blade and tore her skin
Where her depression lied deep within.
This went on for days months years,
Until she cried her very last tears.
She decided that she'd had enough.
The world around her was much too tough.
She took a gun to her head.
Congratulations, Society.
She is dead.

Comments

Grant-Grey Porter Hawk Guda

Powerful expression! 

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