I'm slowly losing my soul to the emptiness that I breed.

Once I was the perfect daughter:

Now I am Broken,

People make me scream

For I will never be just like them;

Achieving,

Being,

Something.

I lack the skill to showcase beauty

Or is it that I have none?

I don't care enough about that which I create

Or perhaps I'm not creative?

When I close my eyes the nightmares come

I cannot escape my clichés:

My overused--sometimes abused topics

Of love,

And hate,

And life,

All from which I cannot escape

Just grow wings and take into flight.

So, I will close my mind

Before by this thinking I cause myself more pain

For I've already lost my soul to the emptiness I breed.