Break

Wed, 11/29/2017 - 02:54 -- rverbru

She can no longer eat.  

This is day three without food.  

What’s the point?

People eat to survive, but she doesn't want to survive,

anymore.

She is addicted now.  

To self-harm.

Month five of bloody hips, wrists, thighs, stomach.  

What’s the point?  

People who want to live do not do this, but she doesn’t want to live,

anymore.

She is high.  

She doesn’t even know how long this has been going on.  

People who want to have a good life don’t get high every day, but she doesn’t care,

anymore.

She wasn’t always like this.

She wasn’t always starving herself.  

She wasn’t always addicted to self-harm.  

She wasn’t always high, but she is now.

Such a bright future.  

Such a happy girl.  

Such an enlightened soul.

Such gleaming eyes.  

But it is all bullshit

What people think it’s all wrong.  

Outward appearances mean jack shit.  In a world where people need to be perfect,

it can be too much for some people.  

They can not keep up with what people want them to, and eventually,

they break.  

Break into a million pieces.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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