No Words.

The soft strokes.
Gliding on white thin sheet.
The faint glow of a lamp.
Strong clicking of a clock.
As I sit and think.

How to put my feelings?
Onto a sheet?
When I just want to scream?
And tell the world?
Will they listen to my thoughts?

Will they ever know?
I pick up the quill.
And glide over the paper.
As my words come down.
I feel the outside close.

The warmth I once felt.
Now feels cold.
These warm feelings.
Once were mine.
Now they're no more.

Unfold me.
But it will only come.
To one end.
The reality strikes.
Harder than it seems.

Shifting across the page.
Memories cross my mind.
Like a never ending movie.
Like blood seeping.
Through my arm.

People say hurting yourself.
Has no outcome.
I say, hurt is the only way.
To escape the lights.
The demons inside.

Cracked.
Broken.
The cuts.
My fate.
Has been written.