Fallen Angel

*I wrote this after drawing something of a self portrait. The "self portait" was a combination of how I feel and how I wanted to feel. It turned out as a young girl, her shirt and jeans torn, a cross around her neck with the words help and scared scratched into her body, with cuts on her arm and stomach. She has wings, one turned upright, the other fallen to the floor with feathers falling out. Hence the title "Fallen Angel".

Cut, bruised and bloody
This fallen angel has no one to turn
Lost in this world, scared and lonely
The sky stays clear and blue

Her parents fight
Her boyfriend cheats
How this life be right?

She takes the razor blade
Slip, slash, a moment of pain
She's out in the glade
Not the bloody lane

A woman walks past
And ignores our angel on the ground
But the man comes through at last
And slowly she comes around

This angel is fallen no more
This little girl will spread her wings
Her tears on her face will not pour
Everyday day now she sings

The Cycle Continues

I've been here before.
I've definately been here before.
I know this place, I know this feeling, I know what's going to happen.
Can I not stop this?
Can I not change this stupid sick cycle carousel?
I don't know.
Big surprise, I never know.
My friends must be sick of this by now.
But it's not like I can help it.
It just all... happens.


There are days that I wish I could stop feeling.
Days that I wish I could just stop existing.
I could, you know.
It would be easy.
One slip of the hand, one tiny little moment of pain.
And then freedom.
I can't do it though.
I've tried.
I chicken out each time.
There's something inside of me that wants to continue this.
Continue this daily pain and confusion and loneliness.
Continue being lost in a forgotten world.

We all have the chance.
The chance to change the world,
The chance to be different,
The chance to be honest.
Funny thing that chance is.
We get it so many times, but almost never will we take advantage of it.
And when we do, we see all the other chances the we missed out on.
Those are gone.
For good.
Never to return.

I try to do what is best for everyone.
Everyone that is, except myself.
So when I finally do something that I feel is right,
I'm made to question.
I give up.
Maybe I'm not meant to be happy.
Maybe I'm meant to be a nun.
Either way, the options suck.
And I'm stuck right back where I started.
And the cycle continues.

Maybe one day I'll get out of this.
Maybe some day a man will come and pull me from the horse,
The one that continues,
Up and down, up and down, always in the same boring old cycle.
Will he be strong enough?
Will I allow him in?
Who knows
But until then, the cycle continues.