Body aches, muscles sore

Pain seeps though every pore

Crawling towards blotted door

Slightly messed up, dysfunctional state

Pitch blackness becomes bitter hate

Choking to swallow, what’s left on plate

I heard I’m crazy, or slightly mad-hatter

Never destroyed no-one, despite all the chatter

What a fool am I, to think I’d matter

Poor little girl, so full of shame

She hurts for someone else to blame

So incomplete, without her name

Reaches the bottom, approaches the end

They say she truly on the mend

She floats in circles and rounds the bend

Closes door, returns to bed

Sits alone, hands on head

Lights go out, the room turns red.


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