Laughing, talking, arguing, and sometimes even crying.
I search my heart for signs of emotion felt,
But it is empty.
I can feel pain, physical pain,
I cut at my wrist and feel at ease, just to have felt.
I see the blood; I search my mind for reasons to stop.
But it is empty.
I am convinced I need help,
Too many people burdened by seeing the dried blood on my wrist.
I turn myself in, am locked in a hospital room.
But it is empty.
Can this be helping,
Wearing paper pajamas and slippers, sitting on a hard mattress?
Will I get better by seeing the world through a window with bolts around it’s frame?
I search my soul for other solutions,
But it is empty.
Fill me, Lord, with Your Spirit,
For I am empty.
Age 14