she is gone

why do you ask her? she won't answer you, and if she does, it won't be the truth. you know this, and yet you ask and ask and she lies and lies and we all hurt and hurt. you know that you can't do anything for her no matter what. what are you holding on to? she is nothing. she has worn herself down into a tiny wisp of a soul, encased by fragile bones and shredded skin, shredded skin that she is tearing at as you ask, shredded skin that nothing can stitch back together, shredded skin that emulates perfectly her shredded mind. why do you ask? she can't hear you. she is gone. we are gone.