My mind is a cold dead place
My heart is a cold dead place
My eyes are glimpses to a barren plain of gloom left behind from great wars and battles between lovers
One icy stare withholds the pain of years of depression
Pale lips closed tight over angry rants, sad little stray poems, and the regret from every lover I ever gave a chance to change me.
Powder conceals months of impulsive drug use, revenge drinking, shameless walks of shame, and the red tinge from a thousand tears wiped away in frustration.
Pale skin on a small frame contains the ache from middle of the night sobbing and the tension of a small explosion verging on the urge to walk outside and scream into the woods all of the questions that I can never answer. All of the pain a young girl can bear not to release from her veins, instead waiting for the silence of the woods to take her over as the world sleeps, now unknowingly safe from her outrage, her passion, and her endless complexities. It was as if she never existed, and the world was not a cold dead place.