The Introvert Falls

The little girl outside of a typical two-story
skinned her knee. Spots of blood appeared the same time
as her tears. Her parents ran to her, cooing their comfort.
She wanted to run to them too, but she also had a sprained
ankle.
The same girl, a teenager, sits in her room, staring
at the wall. The wall is blank, it is refreshing. Its
calm seeps into her mind as she lowers the blade to her
thigh. Spots of blood appear, but her eyes are dry. Her
body quakes. It turns to laughter as her attempt to hide
her pain shows clear-- no one would see anyway.
She still has her parents, she still has her friends.
But they don't really see her. At least, she doesn't think
so. She's afraid to tell them so much, though she really
wants to. She doesn't want to scare them away with the
shit in her head. It's all she really has.
Observing the days go by,
the people laugh and cry--
It's all so small as she tries to grasp reality.
Words are the only truth she knows and even those
are growing skewed. Man wars and schemes, destroying
itself as she weeps, destroying herself too in
some last attempt at empathy before the sociopath
sets in. She can't handle anymore fear.
But will it be sociopath or corpse?
Nature never truly changes, does it?
These problems she creates, she knows they're
in her head. But in the end, her head is her
influence, life, home.
And she's losing it to humanity.