Broken Banshee

Feeling trapped inside the walls of herself, she wails. Tempted by the yearnings to slice her wrists, and let her spirit bleed, allowing she to finally roam free, Un-judged. “This world isn’t meant for me,” she wallows. Surrounded by the ghosts of her progeny. Sacrificed them insouciantly so, she could be? “Carefree, unburdened, so successful,” taunts the clustered whisperers. She mutters, “Pride is sitting besides me.” Ponders, while her insides burn violently. Screaming desperately, only on the inside you see. Never sharing her scattered sorrows, externally. Now, the ghosts laugh at her butterfly dreams, secretly fluttering in the abyss of a faraway sea. Gone. Her family boasts her greatest enemies, They are her magnifying mirrors of failure. They will never see, They will never deduce; they will never lay claim to their part of the blame. Shattering internally, her insides slowly engulfing in her raging forest fire. Wonders is this self-made or prophesized? Too late or lately? Sorrowfully, wishing the wind would sweep her away, and whisk her into the salty sea. Like her freed dreams, she is unleashed, but diseased. Neither reaching where they were destined to be. Yet, they will never ever see her cry. Never. Never. Ever. Set ablaze now, slowly fading into charcoal shades of grays. Dying alone, oh forgotten child.