Average Night

She sits alone.

Drinking, watching, with the effects of alcohol slowing taking hold.

No one really notices they don't even care.

But when she drinks herself into a stupor, then they see.

What pain she's in and how she deals.

The cuts on her arms half healed, but most just lines of red and scared tissue.

People believe they can help.

She's there charity case of the day, week, or month which ever they decide.

No one really cares; they just don't want to look bad, turning their backs while she's in need.

No friend as everyone leaves her.

The friends she has are the ones she can't see, the ones who pretend to care, but don't.

The little figments of her imagination, telling her she matters and not to cut to deep.

When the blade is already in and slicing some of the soul she has left, the only part as the rest has been defiled.

Light headed as usual, too much drink, but she needs more as always, just to forget the up roar.

All pain gone, thinking of the long ago dreams, when everything was so happy.

Before the drinking, partying, and before the one thing she loves, her trusted blade.

But her family don't notice or ever care, for that matter.

Her life is controlled by one person, who should remain nameless, told when to stop,

When to go, to jump, she asks how high, to cut not deep and before she weeps,

She does as they say, as she's afraid they'll go away.

To drunk to sit, to drunk to stand, but she has no one to hold her hand.

Making her way down the street, head pounding and in a daze, stomach churning,

Life's lesson, but not learning.

Collapse to the ground, thinking deaths insight, as light goes out of sight.

But next day I woke up and boy did I get a fright.

A/N… Plz R&R. means a lot.