Wednesday, June 2, 2010

The Ugly Thing You've Come To Be

No one can stand to look at her,
Now a dying shell of her former self,
Once like all the other happy little girls that swayed to music in the summer sun,
Catching fireflies,
Once enraptured by the sparklers that left smokey imprints of a name,
Or the airplanes that flew to magical lands that she always wanted to see,
Now she is decaying from the inside out,
Pouring an infectious pus from gangrene wounds that lay quietly beneath the surface,
She is bleeding on the dancefloor, hurting out loud,
But they all turn as if they cannot hear her,
Drowning out her sorrow, her screams,
Hoping one day she will "snap out of this",
So she sits, alone, with the darkness - her only friend,
Places the long, slender, sterling blade upon her flesh,
Its creamy, steam-softened delicate surface,
With the little veins trapped below like prisoners behind a wall of fleshy glass,
And presses,
Dragging it slowly across the skin she hates so well,
It tears open to reveal blood and bone,
The fabric of her being,
& with perfect disgust in her eyes,
She realizes now,
That no one will ever hear the blood-curdling screams that erupt,
Black-tainted from her tortured soul,
But the noose it gives, and the overdose fails,
The river is too warm, and the oven isn't gas,
The razor is too dull, and the house is too small,
But the gun, yes, the gun,
It is loaded,
So up the stairs she runs, as quiet as can be,
Hoping no one hears, & they don't,
Gripping with trembling hands, her cure for living,
& scribbles down a note...
" With burning eyes and a sweat-stained brow, I say goodnight, goodnight to you all..."

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