Dear Journal
I'm not as bored
as I'm usually kept in this hole
that has kept my mind sane.
Many things have kept me to myself,
mostly foolish pride and selfishness.
My mind wanders into a sea of blood.
I see my anguish and pain
slowly stain the bits of my soul,
while tears fall endlessly
into salty puddles around my wounded body.
The scars on my wrists
speak for themselves.
They need not someone else's pity
or sympathy to speak for them.
The stars in my eyes
no longer shimmer and shine
with such grace or fullfilment
of unpaid dreams and wishes.
I'm on my own now.
Alone and afraid,
I will not scream for help,
for no one can help me.
My stubborness sleeps with me by my side.
I lay my head down upon my pillow,
that has so often listened as my uneased head
complained about the pain that has been built up inside.
I realized something I should have
long before now...
I'm home.
