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| The Life of The Lost Girl: a creative fictional diary, sometimes based on certain factual truths. |
Internal
I'm sorry.
These words are hard to find—hard to speak. I'm sorry you have to see me like this, so raw and so weak.
I wish I was different, I wish I were strong. Haunted by my corrupted and anxious thoughts, I wish to belong.
No love, no life; possible relief as I look at the knife.
There are no words, only one never-ending thought. So many possibilities and fears, all to be fought.
Why am I so afraid and why do I feel so alone? Their damaging words haunt me, cutting deeper to the bone.
Eternal pain is forever; internal pain is hard to sever.
I'm at a loss and don't know what to do. Their faces, their voices, their shoulder, no one to turn to.
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| Are you here now? |
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