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So uhm... here's something I wrote. It's actually a short story. Constructive criticism/comments appreciated :3 Screaming, always the screaming. She is sitting in the corner of the cold, dark room, the girl who is whole heartedly broken. She cannot cite, nor begin to comprehend when the beginning of the end slipped through the little comfort she thought she had once known. It was all an illusion, a clever hoax. Her thoughts are all consuming, a constant war within her mind where nothing is definite and all the facts are completely unknown. In her small world, everything conflicts. Pale moonlight pools in through the one window in her room, where she had once stared out into the open world, hoping, desiring , despairing. The screaming had drawn closer now, but the girl did not care, for she had known this before. Her faith and strength had too eluded her long ago. She would not cry, she told herself, she would not cry because crying would display her true weakness and flaw. Closing her eyes she prayed to a god she knew did not exist. There was no one that could save her. Had she only the strength to save herself, had she only that strength then perhaps she would fight. But here in this lifeless room, desolation prevailed. Shivering, the girl removes herself from her corner. But as her frail feet stumble across the floor, a door opens. A voice, feminine, breaks through the girl's only false sanctuary. "Don't you know what time it is, bitch?" The voice questions drunkenly. The girl does not turn around, nor does she answer. Words are meaningless here in this world, her words could not save her. Fear hovers at the edge of her mind , though the girl cannot identify why. The voice belongs to a human, just like any other, no more, no less. Still, she is frightened. Involuntary, the girl trembles. The voice laughs but fades away. The voice is not real, her thoughts are betraying her once more. Her thoughts seemed real sometimes, and the wounds they inflicted at times seemed just as so. Doors in her mind keep opening and closing. The truth, could she ever understand the truth? Could she even fathom the absolute truth? Memories lie, people lie; she lives in a world of lies. Everyday, she listens, watches and waits patiently for something, anything, to make sense in her clouded head. Nobody around her can see how she sits trapped inside her own head. Then again, no one ever cared to truly acknowledge her pathetic existence. In her head, she knew that loneliness was the beginning of her demise, though her heart spoke that her downfall was brought on by consistent betrayal that polluted her life and her very being. The girl does not want to remember, but she can never forget. Her life of lies was her fault, because she could not open her eyes to accept reality. Despair fills her insides, sharp pain courses through her heart and stomach like a stab wound. She must not cry. But she can recall the feeling of the cold steel piercing through her heart. This is one of the girl's many thoughts that she obsesses over. No one could understand her severe lack of trust, but her past was still her present. Her demons clung to her, they wrapped their claws around her neck, drawing the air out of her lungs and tried to sink her into the earth.This was yet another struggle unseen by the normal eye. The memories still burned fiercely in her mind. People have always told the girl to cheer up and live life, but they cannot see her the way she truly is, behind the black curtains that veil her existence. Desolation is inescapable, because no matter who the girl has around her, the veil separates her existence from the other's. The girl rubs her weary eyes; she has not slept in days. All she wants to do is sleep, but the nightmares and thoughts ravage her mind and she cannot escape. The house has grown silent now, all battles put to rest, except the girl's own. She retreats to her bed, where there is still no warmth to be found. Staring up at the thick darkness, her thoughts continue to rage and cloud any coherent thoughts. The next day, in mere hours, the girl would attend school, where the broken dreams and the faceless nothings dwelled. She would drift through the crowded but empty hallways as the students who existed but did not exist at all laughed merrily with their friends. A world of lies. She would try to look upon their faces and understand, but they always appeared featureless in her unforgiving eyes. They would bump into her and hardly pay her any mind, but that would always be what the girl preferred. The girl yawns. In that prison, she would be told to sit and care about information useless to her lifeless existence. In that prison, her existence would be wasted, every ounce of her potential ebbed away as she conforms to everyday life. The girl's eyes start to slowly close. She doesn't want to close her eyes, but she must, she wants to see. Things have always been like this maybe tomorrow, though, things will be different. An alarm clock sounds off from across the room, reading four-o'clock a.m. Cursing, the girl forces herself out of bed. Another morning, another struggle. - Three hours and fifteen minutes later- The girl is in class now, staring blankly at the teacher lecturing at the front of the room. She is in the back, now drawing and day dreaming. The girl does not worry that anyone will see what she scribbles on her paper, because all the desks around her are empty. The whole classroom is completely empty, but she can still hear the teacher's voice continuing to spew unimportant facts to the students that cannot exist. None of it matters because his existence is separate from her own. Eventually, the bell rings and the girl moves on to her next prison cell. They're all like puppets to her, moving as if mechanical even. She gazes at each of her teachers with likewise blank expressions. Today would be no different than any other day.

You're not coming home, And I'm trapped here Torn between life and death, I stay because you left me Dangling from that rope, I can't go down there anymore. I don't even feel alive, Of course you don't either. Swimming in the claret water, It's the only way to stay alive. The razor's edge is my paddle, Living on borrowed time. I'm still here because you left me, Why couldn't it be me instead?

Everyday I hear them laughing. I'm Wandering what it is. Everyday I see them pointing. I'm wandering what it is. I've always known. But I just don't get it. There is nothing wrong. When I feel the pain I write dark marks in my journal. I'm wandering what it is.

I am walking down a road.Rain drops on me. I see myself ... I never made sure that this was me and myself ... Because I just look happy from the outside but behind all these cuts,behind all of these teats and behind of these suicidal thoughts .. was me ... Somewhere in the deepest place of darkness ... Hidden .. Like piece of shit .. After all what I have gone .. I asked myself if it ever could be possible to be happy ... Because when I think about it .. It's only me who really can help myself ... But I just think I am not strong enough to. So I still try to reach for myself .. If there would be anyone to look through my mask .. I am still hoping as much as I am loosing myself. R.I.P My Heart