Emptied

I don’t have enough love, 

Not for you, myself, or anyone else. 

I can’t trust, though it seems just 

That happiness is a trigger. 

My relationship with sex is broken, 

I can’t be touched without breaking. 

I look in the mirror, but 

My reflection doesn’t look like me. 

Most days I see a small girl crying. 

A small girl who can’t look at me, 

A small girl who’s screaming, but 

Only I can hear her.  

Happiness is a mirage. 

It serves only to slow my descent into madness. 

The harder I try, the faster it fades. 

Now I let it fade on its own, 

So it can stay just a little longer.