Poor despondent soul
How its light has been so muted
And its vessel felt so foul
For it never felt so loved
For the coat of flesh, it bear
Would become its own surgical instrument
Of demise and useless air
Wishing only love was sent
As depression was its closest friend
And anxiety was its blanket of pity
Always feeling like a fiend
Waiting for serenity
Keeping its calm through slit wrist
And dripping tears in only red
Silently screaming from its chest
To no longer dread
How the spirit’s anchor
Allowed society to bath it in insecurities
Dwindling in passion and temper
Accepting all impurities
If only the dying life
Echoed for warmth and empathy
Before embracing the knife
And losing humanity
Before the word pain became its own entity
And mutilated jubilation
Before the souls’ eyes sang misery
And before the tears have been marred with the word’s caution
Yet such sorrow unable to be seen
For the now skinless ghost
Hid behind a mask to stay unseen
As its hollow face fooled more than most
Its smiles hid the tears
The laughs hid the screams
Keeping the masquerade for years
Things were never as they seemed always bottled in such fears
The phantom that once took breath
Wished to be free
Seeking death
Savoring such glee
And before the heart would cease to exist
Before it would fall into an eternal slumber with its blade
Before the wings spread and its last pulse could rest
Before the tormented spirit could fade
It never understood
Just how much it would be missed.