P. S. I Wrote This

It was a bright day, The child in the woman wanted to play. Sighing, she realized she couldn't go out, The thought of it made her pout. Sitting and staring at the wall, Last few encounters made her skin crawl. The thought of being free, Made her wonder who was she. She was looking for happiness, The thought of never getting out of brothel made her distress. She wanted a perfect life, So she used her bobby pin as a knife.

The numbness is kicking in, Her head starts to spin, She wants to forget everything; But memories hurt her like a bee's sting She's at peace, Her energy starts to decrease, She wants an escape- The influence made her jump from a skyscape.

One line, two lines, The razor in her hand shines. Her blood oozes, Killing herself is an option she chooses. Her head is spinning, The dark side of her is winning. Her eyes are sore, She closes her eyes on the floor.

She was lost, The punishment she gave herself made her exhaust. Her body was badly bruised, In a pool of her own blood - she was unconscious and confused. All the truth and the pain, Made her learn to hope again. Now, she fights for a fairy tale, As her past was nothing but stale. She's a fighter; Because she knows someday the things will be brighter. She's unbreakable. Like a diamond she's unbendable.

I saw a monster, who lived in a youngster. It was trying to control him, The expression on his face was full of grim. He was afraid. The happiness in his life was starting to fade. 'There has to be an escape!' He thought; Then looked in the mirror, distraught. His eyes danced with darkness, A soul was becoming heartless. The guy who lived to the fullest, Shot himself with a bullet.