fight · Poem · Poetry · prose · Self Harm · Self Harm Awarness · Suicide · Suicide prevention · Writing

The Stranger

Walking along the gravel pathway, a head bent sunken catches my eye,
Unwavering eyeballs look through me, releasing a defeated sigh.

She carries her own black cloud, creating an unceasing shadow,
It looms across all of her, drowning her in despair so low.

She does not look broken hearted, rather a person who is simply broken,
A broken soul and a broken mind, tortured with words unspoken.

Her skin stretches across her bones, sagging from the weight of the world;
War wounds cover her feeble body, the pieces of her completely unfurled.

Even as she sits, she fights with herself, the demon inside her shamelessly grinning,
She is fighting a constant battle, a battle she may no longer be winning.

Never have I seen a person so desolate, on a journey from which she cannot return,
Years ago she accepted an offer from the devil, a choice she can no longer spurn.

My ears echo with her helpless pleas, yet she never speaks,
Shrill cries surround me, dying down as they continue to become weak.

On the verge of losing her fight, broken down into pieces that were once whole,
She is just an empty vessel now, once the bearer of a now departed soul.

I try to help, but she keeps plunging under waves that pull her down,
Too far gone, I cannot help her as I see her slowly drown.

A sense of familiarity hits just as the last of her I see,
Taken aback, I realize that the defeated stranger is me.

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