Broken Girl

With legs spread and heart closed
My gutted soul bled and I was left there to die.
A short reign of power now is over and left me but a broken girl.

It fed on me like an alien life form
Until I spat it out in a fury of blood and shame.
From below me the demon screamed and I fell into a crying heap.

Sleep with me and dream my terror.

Empty bottles, razor blades and fluffy white snow,
I see myself there in drops of spilt blood.
My veins seize and I drown in a pool of bliss.

In the distance black clouds gather, but I see the sun.
It calls to me and I follow it through fields of daisies.
Somewhere beside me the demon screams and I reach for the devil's hand.

Drink from me and taste my pain.

In desperate cries for help I slit my wrists, pretty red paint.
Lying on the surface of the ocean I am Jesus and I walk.
My mouth opens and I call out for redemption but the silence is deafening.

It is another crucifixion and I am hung out to dry.
In the sunshine at midday I drip blood and bodily fluids.
I hang my head in utter exhaustion knowing the the demon is coming to feed again.

Listen to me and hear my pleas.

Bringing me down from the cross I bore,
Not as the Savior, but the Whore of Babylon I weep.
My sins are obvious, my hatred is palpable, the wrath of God is upon me.

Taping me up with white cotton clouds,
Promising to fix my wounds and make me whole again.
My pain is apparent, but the scars are not - you cannot fix what you cannot see.

Walk with me and watch the end.

A beautiful onyx sky stretches out before me.
The demon has been pacified and I am oblivious.
The windows to heaven where my true life awaits are open and I see inside.

Leaving behind the broken girl,
The one that you cannot fix or repair - will not be missed.
Stepping off the ledge I begin my journey and wonder why it feels as if I am falling.

Catch me and save my life!

Tumbling now ever quicker and quicker still.
In an instant it is clear and I see not the demon, but my son.
Oh love I have lost!  Love I have left behind!
He questions why I was not stronger, poor pitiful soul!
He never knew, he will never know! 
The truth that I sought,
Not in the reflection of razor blades,
but in the blackness of my soul.
It would have never been good enough for him nor I and I know,
More than anything else I know,
As the ending draws near I know,
What no one could never know:

Death is the only true freedom.