She was broken.
It had happened gradually,
and most of it was self inflicted.
She said she was broken,
and so broken she became.
It was still hard to watch.
It was even harder to stop, because
she seemed so intent on being as
destructive and ripped to fucking pieces
as she could be. I tried to stop it.
I really did.
But even I could hold on for only so long.
I became Miss Righteous,
Miss Please Don’t Do This,
Miss I Miss What You Were, When You Weren’t
Determined to Die.
I became the one part of her that wanted her
to live and be happy.
And the rest of her, that was bent on breaking free,
on killing herself in the most painful of ways?
That part was determined on ripping free.
And eventually she did.
And she grasped herself, her Self, and her soul with both
broken-nailed hands and tore,
long and hard and vicious.
And now she lies,
sobbing and helpless
and falling only more and more into herself,
and I just
don’t
know
what
to
do.
So, this is nonfiction. Yes. Still though, please feel free to critique. I promise, I won't feel like it's disrespectful or anything. While it may be a topic that's hard for me, it doesn't mean that I'm super attached to anything in the poem. The subject itself and the way that the subject is expressed or spoken on are two completely different things. So... yeah. Thanks!
This is nonsense.
Spoiler
Over the past couple of days, I've been writing. A LOT. I'm home sick, and have just been given back the means with which I normally write. Those things added up mean 2500+ words yesterday. Most of it is crap. But that's to be expected. The point is, I have a lot I want to post. Those little tidbits in that mass of text that I actually like. I'm practicing self restraint though... trying to. I know I'm flooding the forums. I apologize. :/
-Coral-
