Broken Record
Scars on her wrists
They never to seem to fade
This will be how it is the rest of her days
A broken record,
Still trying to force its self to play
What kind of life is this
A smile on her face
But secrets hidden deep
If they knew their opinions would change
"She's crazy"
"She's a freak"
"Pathetic"
"Stupid"
All of those things they'd say
They'd wrap around her throat like a rope
Tugging and choking her life away
She stays hidden.
A record, broken but silent
Still trying to force its self to play
This will be how it is the rest of her days.
Unless she speaks.
How dare she speak?
Uttering those words.
To whom she speak?
To the people?
To the walls which upon she stares?
No one. No one is there to listen.
No one. No one is there to care.
Copyright ©
No Name | Year Posted 2015
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