Alexithymia

I lay in bed still,

with only two things I can hear.

The sound of my deep breaths

and the ringing in my ear.

It is all going downhill faster

then I could expect.

Slowly piece by piece,

my life is becoming wrecked.

My heart beats out of control

no matter what I do.

I do not know how long this can continue

till it is completely through.

Nowadays seeking attention

is a call for help in disguise.

Although, it is treated as unserious,

just a bunch of dramatic lies.

They cannot tell, they do not see.

Her imprinted scarred skin,

that merely lies not on the outside,

but instead within.

She hides behind a fake smile

and performs a simple kind act.

Hoping others will feel the love,

care, and importance she lacks.

Do you even notice that she feels lonely,

lost in a sea of hundreds of stories?

Oh, that’s right, you don’t care enough to see,

or really do anything.

In front of you, she is crying.

She is slowly dying.

Reaching her hand out to you…

Oh, if you only knew.

She uses poetry daily,

in order to feel better and cope.

Reflecting on what went astray,

Looking for strands of hope.

Poetry keeps her alive.

Poetry keeps her sane.

The girl describes is me,

Currently healing my pain.