Nerved to a breaking point,

I walk alone in a field painted in black blood,

spilled from my childhood.

My knees shaking,

and my tears lit by a full moon,

as they flood down the valley,

Into a sorrowful river.

My voice is a desperate cry,

a chant to be set free from the ball and chain that restrains me.

Love and hate,

a recipe for my fate.

Don't you just laugh at a pitiful mess?

Every day,

I look in the mirror and have to face the miserable scenery of damaged.

At least I'm brave enough to confess.