“Why the hell am I here?”
She cries all alone.
Staring in the mirror,
The sunken eyes aren’t her own.
Living on lettuce,
Perfection’s the goal.
Throwing up blood,
Her life is the toll.
She worships the scale,
But as the number sinks lower,
Her life passes by,
And her heartbeat gets slower.
Blood falls like tears,
As flesh meets the blade,
Hatred bursts forward,
From all the choices she’s made.
Her flesh is left open,
But still she feels cold,
To the thrill of the knife,
Her soul is now sold.
“I’m so far beyond worthless.”
She sighs late at night.
She covers the bruises,
So they’ll think it’s alright.
She returns to the past—
The only way to feel love.
She has no respect for herself,
And no help from above.
With each touch she falls further,
Losing any sense of conviction.
But she keeps going back,
With an affection addiction.
“How did I get like this?”
She demands in the dark.
All hope is lost;
An invisible spark.
Flaming hot anger,
Courses through icy veins.
She fights not to fight,
But the rage takes the reins.
Smoke in the air,
She lies every day,
To support a sick habit,
That keeps everything away.
A flickering light,
Beneath a cold, silver sheet.
She escapes from her life.
So she and Satan can meet.
“I’m done with this bullshit.”
She gives up on the climb,
As she picks up the razor,
And cries one last time.
