No One

The one who utters nothing in fear that no one will listen.

Last picked, least wanted, in everything she is last.

Still the same from the past.

Alone in her room is where she stays.

For the narrow minds of hell, earth, with pain she pays.

Behind her smile lies mascara, darkened tears.

Paranoia, that of a molested child, molested violently by misery, she fears.

Everything's going to be okay, the few she's confided in say.

Bleeding wounds beneath flesh, inside dead she'll lay.

Staring in the mirror, she mutters ugly, disgusting, fat.

She's not even worth looking at.

She's no one, she knows the unbearable fact.

In writing she cries for help.

To God, "Take me, take me, kill me already!" she breathes her desperate plea.

If people knew they'd call her psycho, freak. Inside she's dying, no one sees.

Alone, a broken ghost she'll stay.

It will be okay.

She will eventually die someday.

Until then, her scars, won't anyone see?

I'm "no one".

That broken girl is me.