immune to the things around her
feeling no sadness, no anger or warmth
she withdraws into her soul
to see if they're is anything left
the men she embraced used her body
disposing of it when they were through
that now she trusts no one
and feels there's nothing left
so she finds her blades of comfort
and slices her tattered skin
watching her blood slowly rise
to let her know she is alive
her heart is beating
she is breathing
yet she feels as if she's slowly dying
these parasites around her,
the men who've abused her,
the people who have left her,
the people who won't love her
she can't escape their deadly grasp
crushing her beautiful wings so she may never leave
she must always stay in this darkness
and never find the light
and be stabbed with words and deeds until she can no longer feel a bit of emotion
until she is numb and filled with hate instead of sorrow
she needs her razors for control
to cut through the tears and find strength in the sight of her blood
once she sees that red pool she is calmed somehow
no longer out of control
but under control
she needs this addiction...
to live.