Skin picking,
For habit,
Or for pain,
To feel,
Anything,
Besides,
The numbness,
Which can’t be,
Explained,
It exists,
And festers,
Like a wort,
That won’t go,
Away,
So I pick at,
The surface,
No thought,
Only intent,
To find,
Perfection,
That doesn’t exist,
Within me,
But,
Picking at the,
Skin,
Won’t solve,
The problem,
Nor is it the,
Cure I seek,
But I skin pick,
All the,
More,
Trying to,
Find,
The answers,
Beneath

Once again,

I stand on the edge,

Of the dark abyss ,

I know,

All too well,

The Pit,

Calls to me,

Im already falling,

Through the blackness,

It’s worse this time,

Voices of self doubt,

Self- deprecating words,

Echo,

Endlessly,

It’s worse,

Because of the grief,

I feel in my aching heart,

The void of emptiness,

I feel like I am nothing ,

Failure,

Undeserving of life,

I feel like a raindrop,

Who’s destined,

To always fall back,

Into this black pit,

Of oblivion,

Never seeing the end,

Though,

I will somehow,

Recover from this,

Just right now,

It feels neverending,

A cycle bound,

To continue,

Unbreakable,

I fall,

Continously,

Into the blackness,

Deep,

Into the heart,

Of my own depression

Here,

Everyone,

Bears their fangs,

Like venomous,

Snakes,

Here,

Everyone,

Is wearing,

A mask,

That will break,

To show,

The monster,

Underneath,

For here,

The monsters,

Roam,

Like sharks,

In they bay,

Here are,

The night creatures,

The vampires,

Who host this,

Bizzare masquerade

Bathing,

In the glow,

Of the,

Moonlight,

A crown of crimson,

Grows,

It’s beauty,

Unmatched,

By all the others,

For only,

It grows,

In the light,

Of the full moon,

On a cloudless night,

The wind,

Is silent,

Still,

As the crimson crown,

Continues,

To grow,

It’s secret,

Never witnessed,

By human eyes,

But the Fae,

Know,

What this,

Crown of crimson,

Truly beholds

Red petals,

Along the ground,

A path,

To follow,

A path,

To be found,

Red petals,

Mark the way,

Scattered and tossed,

By the figure,

In the shadows,

So far away,

The petals,

Dance behind them,

Like a bridal train,

Red petals,

Scattered in the dark,

Where do they lead?

Where do they go?

To follow or stay?

To friend or to foe?

The petals shall,

Show the way

In the garden,

The flowers,

Bloom,

From little bulbs,

Into there,

Full glory,

Some take,

Longer,

Than others,

Some spring,

Early,

Some take time,

To realise,

And release,

Their full potential,

But each,

Flower,

Blooms,

None the less,

And turn into,

Beautiful blossoms

Grief,

Wears many faces,

Unique,

Individual,

To all,

Those,

Who enter,

This place,

It’s almost,

Haunting,

Yet strangely peaceful,

As a familiar,

Face,

Sits beside me today,

Quiet,

Friendly,

Warm,

Comforting,

A face,

That I thought,

Had disappeared,

But they are always,

There deep in my heart,

Today,

My gran sits,

In the shape of grief,

Unspeaking,

Yet smiling,

We sit for a while,

Speaking with our hearts,

And minds,

Words aren’t needed,

In this place,

Knowing that,

She has passed on,

And is at peace,

Makes today bearable,

As I smile,

At the memories,

Almost wishing,

There had been more,

Smiling,

I hear her voice,

Telling me,

That it’s time to go,

And she fades,

As the grief,

Ebbs away

,And I find myself,

Back in reality,

Feeling only faint,

Sorrow,

I really do miss you,

Even if it’s not all the time,

You will always be treasured

*contains mention of gun violence*

48,000,

And counting,

As the bullets,

Rain down,

In corridors,

Piercing,

The screams,

From the children,

Which have now,

Gone silent,

48,000,

Lives,

That could have been saved,

That could have been,

The next doctor,

A scientist,

A teacher,

A nurse,

An inventor,

An astronaut,

The list goes on,

Their lives,

Cut short,

Their blood,

On your hands,

Yet,

You’ll ban,

Everything,

That makes no sense,

But you can’t,

Let go,

Of something,

That’s several years old,

And out of date,

Because of your pride,

Your spirit,

You don’t need,

The guns,

We need action,

We have been screaming,

For it,

Yet,

It falls on deaf ears,

Like the bullets,

That fill the corridors,

Where the children once,

Stood,

Having a normal day,

48,000 and rising,

It’s time for it to end

There is a crack,

In the glass,

I think it’s just,

A scratch,

There is a crack,

In the glass,

I can’t seem to repair,

It,

There is a crack,

In the glass,

I think,

It’s getting bigger,

There is acrack,

In the glass,

I can’t change it

An imperfection,

A nuisance,

I hate it,

The way it makes me,

Feel,

There is a crack,

In the glass,

I wish things were,

Getting better,

But I’m locked in,

My room,

Crying,

Looking,

At the person,

In the mirror,

Realising,

I’m the one,

That needs repaired,

But no one,

Will love,

With all these,

Imperfections,

They laugh at me,

Instead,

The cracks,

Are growing bigger,

The glass is getting,

Thinner,

There’s not much,

Time before,

It completely breaks

Is the course,

To the moon,

Really straight?

Is there another path?

One filled,

With bumps,

And zig zags,

Do we have to,

Conform,

To the norm?

What if our journey,

To the moon,

Was filled,

With shooting stars,

And asteroids,

Surely that,

Journey would,

Be worth retelling,

Because even if,

You shoot for,

The moon,

You’ll always,

Be among stars