Lost hope for stillness, for silence, for light—
a death sentence sealed beneath a spiraling night.
She scratches for meaning with caustic nails,
as time betrays youth on broken scales.
Carven tears tore through her chest.
Heart separates without sound.
Distrait children in crumbling traps,
chasing myth through shadowed gaps.
Wracked moral compass, no mercy shown
— viscous terror to call her own.
Scars like rites carved the night,
a lifetime held. Thirteen, with a knife.
Craving conquest, she reached for the sky,
reasoning divinity would greet her.
No holy ghost—only silence, thick—
Red hands remain. Slick.
No map home, no mercy shown
—viscous terror called her own.
Scars like rites carved the night,
a lifetime held. Thirteen, with a knife.
Her visceral scream—
Not for the rupture;
For what never became.
A lifetime held…
Thirteen, with a knife.
*Inspired by the slenderman stabbing (2014)