Piece by Little Agonizing Piece

She whines,
Her face seemingly melting,
Melting behind stiff knees.
It’s too much.
Too much.

She’s ripping at the seams,
Shaky hands not quick enough.
The needle dangles from tired fingers,
Thread still attached,
Chained to a gaping chest.

She’s shaking.

As she sits within that white room,
Hiding away,
Away from the pain,
She wonders.

When?
When did it become so hard?
When did she start tearing apart?
Piece by little agonizing piece.

She’s quiet now.
Angry.
Why? Why?! WHY!

She’s breaking again.
The screams,
And hissing voices,
Are just beyond that door.
That white door.

Her face.
Her face.
It’s melting again.
But she’s still angry.
So angry.

The voices.
She just wants them to stop.
They’re helping her break,
Like a knife to her splitting stitches.

Her fears,
Her horrors,
Bleed from her skin,
From the very walls around her.
They’re in the air.
On display.
It’s hard to breathe.
So very hard.

And still no one looks.
No one looks,
Even as she screams.

She just wants it all to stop.
She wants them to look,
To see,
That she can’t do this.
Can’t keep herself together.
Not anymore.

The rips are large and plenty.
It’s too much.
She’s done screaming now.
Her throat’s raw,
Littered with unspoken,
Unheard,
Words.

But no one listens.
The walls still bleed.
She still can’t breathe.
Her face still melts.

And she’s done.
Done with everything.

Because she can’t leave these walls.
Can’t open that door.
Or she’ll lose herself.

She can’t leave.
No one will catch her.
Not beyond that door.
That white door.
Especially not the voices.
Not the shrieking voices.

She’s tired.
And done.
Done with it all.
As she sits there,
Tearing apart,
Piece by little agonizing piece.