Numb I told you that you would miss me once I was gone. What’s left of you now that I’m no longer your pawn? How does it feel to know you’re not kissing me goodnight? How does it feel to know you’re not loving me the rest of your life?

Doll Porcelain cream skin, Honey blond hair, The right kind of thin, Taken down with great care.

You won’t read it. Feeling dead inside… Maybe colder. Maybe older.

Inner Child Inside me is still my younger self. She’s alive and breathing. And not very sure of herself. Nor her small fragile feelings.

Trigger Warning: this poem contains thoughts of suicide and other mental health issues. It was written over 8 years ago, and does not reflect who I am now. Please seek help if you find yourself with these thoughts and emotions. I am sharing this to show there is always a light at the end of…