Shouting over the distance to a figure of a person,
But it seems as though it never hears me.
I have been locked away in suclusion bearing self inflicted scars,
Blood fills the tiny area I am aloud in staining my skin with a sharp crimson.
I have been whatching this figure.
Feeling empty and alone,
I try to stray closer but my chains hold me back.
Maybe one day it will see me or here me.
But for now that’s just a farfetched dream.
But if it were to see me would I frieghten it would I disgust it.
Maybe is it ment to be this way.
As the sound of dripping echoes around me I notice more cuts have been made.
But none the less maybe just maybe one day I may break away.
But only to find that this figure is actualy the outer me