Without a way to spill her soul,
She turns to pen-less ink,
To write what keeps her eyes so dim,
Everything she hides within.

A burden she never wants to share,
Dark secrets dared not to tell,
Hidden from all who love her soul,
She dons that old, sullen mask.

A place she once dared not return,
With a fake smile to hide the pain,
Drawn across a blank, fresh slate,
The power to fool all around.

Never admitting to what she fears most,
She runs away from all her pain,
Without looking back, she flees her soul,
Until it feels like nothing's left.

Numb to all feelings, apathetic at best,
She stares blankly into the night,
Nothing better to do, her blade shines bright,
Thoughts begin to stir within.

Perfection along its once used blade,
Dulled by nothing in image alone,
She claims its handle, gripping tight,
And retrains her trembling hand again.

The warmth of seeping, spilt red blood
Trickles down her pale, white wrist,
With nothing else to calm her shame,
She hides what's left within.