The She

The She has no soul

But an endless memory

The She never forgets

And she never forgives

Holding grudges for eternity

She writes hate-mail to herself

And she can’t ever love herself

She is fated to a life of erratic anarchy

But now the She is broken

Rendered naked

Rendered helpless on the floor

And the only thing she craves

Is for one more blow to come

The She punishes herself

With sick, macabre rituals

She gazes at the cutting marks

Bleeding on her arms

The She can’t break free

She sells her aching self

Renting heart-shaped pieces out

To anyone who gives a damn

When all the pieces are gone

So is the She