Her words

Her words were not heard
Nor were they seen.
Struggleing to walk
In her life of broken dreams
Cloths are torn at the seam
Battlefield of cuts cover her sleeves

Alone in the far corner in a word of toxic thoughts
The plaintive whisper,are her thoughts
Feeling like no one would miss her.
She says no more
In Lancaster Square
She continues her stroll
Trying hide her wounds ever so more

Tacitly dripping blood on to the floor
"Why can't I be free" she desired so much more.
To end the crying behind a bathroom door

Suicidal tendency
Mocking her reality
Living life as a curiosity
She lost touch with sanity

So she writes,hiding behind third person
As the others speak about how.....
she really is me.