I lay here,
empty as a shell,
with no one caring about the mere,
things that run through my head,
or about how I feel after being criticised,
contantly by those that are supposed to love me but dont;
Unknowingly these dark figures are my toughest critics,
wanting to teach me,
raise me,
but bring me,
down.
Down to the hollow bottomless pit that was once my heart,
that was once filled with joy,
once exacerbated by love,
and overcome with love for those that loved me;
But now it could never be.
For my toughest critic is my mother,
having a wolloping hole come towards me,
constantly,
having to match my blood run down my face,
for now my pit grows larger,
my eyes see nothing but this figure.
That is not the end of it,
For there are others,
ones that were once my friends,
still linguring around every corner,
wispering,
waiting,
until it is too late for me.
For when I wake up,
it is no longer dark,
but bright,
and there is a smile upon my face,
not having to worry about these dark figures anymore;
