It wasn’t so much that she wanted to die
As that she couldn’t find a way to live
It wasn’t so much living as it was surviving
She merely existed, if even that
It was all fear without
And darkness within
I went into hiding eight years ago and I never really came out since. There are little bits and pieces I let out sometimes- desperately, unwittingly, yet bravely all the same. But everytime I dare myself to even peek from behind this colossal metal door, I get scared back into slamming it shut again. Heavy, dark and bolted- trapped from without and trapped from within.
I have more locks now than I can count. More than I’ve had eight years ago. More than I’ve ever had before. I keep wishing I could save myself, but now… Now I’m not so sure.