The Beginning, The Middle, And The End
The Beginning:
Cry Destiny Pain
She began with a death
and she didn't know
who was next.
So she cried day and night
until her body didn't feel right.
Her body felt broken
and weary
and weak.
But not as bad as her soul.
It was sad
and melted
and alone.
She felt like
she was being robbed
of the most precious
thing named love.
The criminal's namewas Cancer.
That bitch had taken second
no third
no fourth
loved one.
An uncle, an aunt
a personal role model,
She felt the pain
of their deaths.
She died inside.
The pain became too much.
She couldn't take it.
She couldn't speak right.
She couldn't fix it.
She couldn't stop
the sobbing,
the praying,
the silent screaming at night.
She couldn't control it.
She couldn't help it.
She fell.
And the only thing
there to catch her when she fell
was something sharp.
Anything she could find.
At first, she didn't know.
She didn't plan it.
It was Destiny calling.
Cry was at school.
She'd found something
sharp from the most
unexpected place.
She sat at the desk
not answering the teacher's questions
that she knew the answers to.
But the best friend in her pocket
knew the answer to
her Pain.
She called for her new friend.
It came out for a visit,
saying hello
to the inner side of her wrist.
No one saw.
Someone saw.
Cry laughed, appearing it as a joke.
Through her fake laughter,
the wristwas lined with the scratch.
Cry looked down.
She smiled.
She did not frown.
She felt the caress
of the sharp thing.
She felt the control of this pain.
No one was forcing it
but her.
No one could start it
but her.
She felt the control of this pain.
She wiped a tear
before anyone could see it.
She said a prayer so low,
no one could hear it.
She prayed she wouldn't
go too deep.
.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.
The Middle: Ritual, Control, Secrecy
Cry has found a hideaway.
It's night.
She cries into her pillow,
clutching it tight.
She holds the key in her right hand.
She puts the headphones in.
Listens to the sweetest melody
for the worthy
Ritual.
Her palms begin to sweat.
Her face gets wet.
Her heart races
as the key graces
her wrist ,
causing a bone white line
to turn pink
and a slight purple.
She does want to live.
She wants to control the pain,
still weaker than the pain
she can't forgive
for being
out of Control.
At the end of the hour,
the scratches are made.
She does it again,
one last time for now.
She feels the sting.
and stops.
And it heals.
She does it again,
continuing the last one.
and stops.
And it heals.
Thanks, new best friend.
I get it now.
Nobody knows but you and me.
It's our little Secret.
.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.
The End
She talks to her real best friend.
The one that can talk,
a girl.
She tells the secret.
She can trust this friend.
So she tells the secret.
Now, she said
good bye.
Cry's sorry she started.
But she doesn't want to
Stop.
She doesn't want to die.
She can't get the sharp object to
Drop.
Cry tries and tries.
For a while, she's oK.
Her spirit still
dies and dies.
She prays that no one
else she loves
Dies.
She can't find something sharp.
So she uses her nails.
It works.
As long as she has control,
it will never fail.
She knows it.
She owns it.
She's grown with it.
She refuses
to die with it.
She is going
to get through this.
I am going to get through this.
I was Cry.
My name is Gabby.
I sit here and write.
I sit here and sigh.
I remember when I was
Cry.
I'd
cry.
I'd smile sometimes,
looking at the marks.
I'd not cry sometimes.
But in peace, my heart starts.
I stopped. I sang.
I sang at church
as the bells rang.
I got through that.
I made it through that.
So many alternatives in front of me.
They'd definately take what's
left of Me.
I'm wise.
I'm strong.
I don't have pain
so much
I have to make more
that I can control.
Where I get a remote
turn it on
turn it off.
I have control.
I have control of my life.
I am not Cry.
I cry,
but Cry is not staring
at me in the mirror.
I don't see her through
my eye anymore.
She says "hi" once in a while.
I see her flicker in my reflection,
just to see how I am.
I'm proud of my resurrection.
I'm so alive.
I live for the ones that don't.
I'm different.
I don't know pain like so many others do.
But I've touched it enough
to write this and dowhatever it is I do.
I was Gabrielle, Gabby, whatever.
I was Cry.
I am Me.
I am almost happy.
I am almost as peace.
That is good enough for me.
I am Gabrielle, Gabby, Brielle, whatever.
I am not Cry.
I will not die.
Not like that, not again.
I hope. I hope next time,
I find a different way to cope.
I've been me all along.
Especially right now.
Beloved Cry is Gone.
Cry Destiny Pain
She began with a death
and she didn't know
who was next.
So she cried day and night
until her body didn't feel right.
Her body felt broken
and weary
and weak.
But not as bad as her soul.
It was sad
and melted
and alone.
She felt like
she was being robbed
of the most precious
thing named love.
The criminal's namewas Cancer.
That bitch had taken second
no third
no fourth
loved one.
An uncle, an aunt
a personal role model,
She felt the pain
of their deaths.
She died inside.
The pain became too much.
She couldn't take it.
She couldn't speak right.
She couldn't fix it.
She couldn't stop
the sobbing,
the praying,
the silent screaming at night.
She couldn't control it.
She couldn't help it.
She fell.
And the only thing
there to catch her when she fell
was something sharp.
Anything she could find.
At first, she didn't know.
She didn't plan it.
It was Destiny calling.
Cry was at school.
She'd found something
sharp from the most
unexpected place.
She sat at the desk
not answering the teacher's questions
that she knew the answers to.
But the best friend in her pocket
knew the answer to
her Pain.
She called for her new friend.
It came out for a visit,
saying hello
to the inner side of her wrist.
No one saw.
Someone saw.
Cry laughed, appearing it as a joke.
Through her fake laughter,
the wristwas lined with the scratch.
Cry looked down.
She smiled.
She did not frown.
She felt the caress
of the sharp thing.
She felt the control of this pain.
No one was forcing it
but her.
No one could start it
but her.
She felt the control of this pain.
She wiped a tear
before anyone could see it.
She said a prayer so low,
no one could hear it.
She prayed she wouldn't
go too deep.
.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.
The Middle: Ritual, Control, Secrecy
Cry has found a hideaway.
It's night.
She cries into her pillow,
clutching it tight.
She holds the key in her right hand.
She puts the headphones in.
Listens to the sweetest melody
for the worthy
Ritual.
Her palms begin to sweat.
Her face gets wet.
Her heart races
as the key graces
her wrist ,
causing a bone white line
to turn pink
and a slight purple.
She does want to live.
She wants to control the pain,
still weaker than the pain
she can't forgive
for being
out of Control.
At the end of the hour,
the scratches are made.
She does it again,
one last time for now.
She feels the sting.
and stops.
And it heals.
She does it again,
continuing the last one.
and stops.
And it heals.
Thanks, new best friend.
I get it now.
Nobody knows but you and me.
It's our little Secret.
.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.
The End
She talks to her real best friend.
The one that can talk,
a girl.
She tells the secret.
She can trust this friend.
So she tells the secret.
Now, she said
good bye.
Cry's sorry she started.
But she doesn't want to
Stop.
She doesn't want to die.
She can't get the sharp object to
Drop.
Cry tries and tries.
For a while, she's oK.
Her spirit still
dies and dies.
She prays that no one
else she loves
Dies.
She can't find something sharp.
So she uses her nails.
It works.
As long as she has control,
it will never fail.
She knows it.
She owns it.
She's grown with it.
She refuses
to die with it.
She is going
to get through this.
I am going to get through this.
I was Cry.
My name is Gabby.
I sit here and write.
I sit here and sigh.
I remember when I was
Cry.
I'd
cry.
I'd smile sometimes,
looking at the marks.
I'd not cry sometimes.
But in peace, my heart starts.
I stopped. I sang.
I sang at church
as the bells rang.
I got through that.
I made it through that.
So many alternatives in front of me.
They'd definately take what's
left of Me.
I'm wise.
I'm strong.
I don't have pain
so much
I have to make more
that I can control.
Where I get a remote
turn it on
turn it off.
I have control.
I have control of my life.
I am not Cry.
I cry,
but Cry is not staring
at me in the mirror.
I don't see her through
my eye anymore.
She says "hi" once in a while.
I see her flicker in my reflection,
just to see how I am.
I'm proud of my resurrection.
I'm so alive.
I live for the ones that don't.
I'm different.
I don't know pain like so many others do.
But I've touched it enough
to write this and dowhatever it is I do.
I was Gabrielle, Gabby, whatever.
I was Cry.
I am Me.
I am almost happy.
I am almost as peace.
That is good enough for me.
I am Gabrielle, Gabby, Brielle, whatever.
I am not Cry.
I will not die.
Not like that, not again.
I hope. I hope next time,
I find a different way to cope.
I've been me all along.
Especially right now.
Beloved Cry is Gone.