Alone, there, in the dark, she stares.
feeling like the 'screams in a vacuum' she hears in the airwaves.
Her hands bleed more than the pen on her paper.
she can't break the cycle she resists,
up all night writing useless shit.
I watch from afar, helping with my mind,
never in contact, mustn't know I'm not fine.
I think she once had a dream,
washed away with the brains it seems.
Those marks tell her a story she never hears,
and all along she has everything to fear.
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