Hurt

The blood drips on a tiled floor,

Reflecting the solemn moon.

As she struggles with feelings,

That she's begging to release.

Forced to go through hell,

Floundering in a sea,

Of hurt and hate.

Oh, how to get out,

Of this crimson paradise?

All alone,

Blood falls,

Fascinated,

But locked away.

She's so much better,

Than this.

They call her stupid,

Worthless,

Tell her she's not worth it.

She hates herself,

Because they're all the things,

She wants to be.

Blood drips on

A tiled floor,

Daylight reflecting

Off of long-broken

Glass.

Her wrists are

Slit.

Her eyes are open,

Yet seeing nothing.

She hangs

From an old rope she found,

A chair tilted backwards,

An aid in her escape.

Gone from a world

Of never-ending hurt.

Gone from a world,

Of beauty.

Gone from a world.

Gone.

Because she is…

Hurt.