The Ghost of a Memory

I am shattered,
Lying dead on the floor,
My mind it has scattered,
My hand’s on the door.

I scratch a little harder,
But they don’t seem to care,
“I don’t really like her”,
The truth’s too hard to bear.

The blood it pours freely,
Drips through the ceiling,
And it may seem merely,
A joking dealing.

I cry a little louder,
But nobody hears,
My blood turns to powder,
But they all just sneer.

“She’s faking, obviously, nothing is wrong,
She’s mentally damaged, that’s all,”
That shall continue to be their sad song,
When they didn’t answer my call.

The memories turn to ash,
And seep through my heart,
I only claw the slash,
That became the start.

The angry red line that pours from my neck,
The remainder, my last line of life,
All I can do now is try and forget,
The things that always gave me strife.

I cry once more,
They do not listen,
I no longer claw,
The blood just glistens.

And now that I’m dead,
They all think I was ill,
A bit dumb in the head,
Maybe I am still.

But you never remember,
The pain that surpassed,
You never remember her,
Or her troubled past.

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