She is a girl who hurts inside.

She’s thin air.

She’s a wisp of a spirit tied to a rotting shell of a body.

She’s nothing.

She’s glass.

She’s made of Prince Rupert drops that have been shattered a million times but still try to hold their shape.

She’s delicate.

She’s darkness.

She’s a black hole of negativity, slowing growing larger with every sadness despair loneliness that she absorbs, slowly coming closer to her own collapse.

She’s self destructive.

She’s fear.

She’s made of it, made of little wisps of worry and anxiety, nothing else in her skeleton but grief and terror.

She’s so scared.

She’s a time bomb.

She’s ticking towards zero, rewinding herself when she can, but sometimes (all the time) she doesn’t want to.

She’s ready to burst.

She’s agony.

She’s pain and nothing else, all her sensors and neurons geared to only feel the sharpdullsearing ache in her heart and soul and body

She’s suffering.

She is a girl who hurts inside.

She thinks that no one cares about her and that she doesn’t deserve to live another day, another hour, another minute another second another blink—

She’s scared to die. But sometimes, she thinks she’s even more scared to live.


Because it hurts

Because it hurts,

When your dreams come crashing down around you in little ghost shards of reality,

That pierce your skin like needles so sharp you don’t see the wound,

But so blunt that the pain doesn’t ever go away,

And so deep that it remains ingrained In your soul.


Because it hurts,

To know you’ve let yourself down, to know you’ve let others down,

To know that you’re hanging by your last thread that has frayed down to the last fibre,

That last fibre that is worn down to the last molecule

That can only take so much before it breaks.


Because it hurts,

To know that you’re not good enough, you’re not smart enough

To reach that little utopia that’s always hanging above your head,

Just millimetres in front of your nose, yet miles and miles away from your outstretched hands,

Just so close, yet so far.


Because it hurts,

When you’re future has disappeared, and the fog of uncertainty spreads,

Like a virus that consumes your mind and eats away at your hope until there’s nothing left,

Until you’ve forgotten what it feels like to see futures in dreams, to hold hope in your heart,

Until you’re all empty and dead.


Because it hurts.