Raw

I am but a spark

Nestled in an ivory tower

Made of greed and

forged by its sails

The only time she was seen, 

was by herself in the mirror. 

She could not tell which

was shattered.

She cried every night,

hoping that her falling tears

And not the dreaded rain

would finally put her fire out.

-

Her days passed

chronological,

Deep with the monotony

Of twice-passed dreams

Always regretting the day

she first picked up the blade

Today, is one she spends in fear

Running from the insidious crawl

of the sinful slithering scythe


For so long, she has been good.

For months, she denied herself

the temptation to bleed.

Her eyes avoided the edges of paper

Skin shivering when a pencil's tip

just the thought could draw

The last drops she knew she had left

The silver gleam was her nicotine

repulsed by her craving,

She could taste the dribble on her skin...



And the release

-

Sharp were the thoughts of bitter regret

Grinding burning rust in her decaying mind,

she muddled them with despondent cotton


Just like everyone else.

Until one day,

the blade ran at her