Pitch Black

There is no poetry to describe how i fell, 

like there is a hole in my chest. No amount of love could fill,

and people have tried,

they reach toward me

and think they're getting to me but they're only going through me,

soaring through my open wounds.

I was 5 when the sky fell and 11 when I understood everything,

the view became the same with my eyes closed, just dark,

and even with my eyes open everything seemed so blurry.

When you picture a suicidal girl, you picture the colour black.

You see her tears before you see her eyes and wonder if she's ever known a life where untouched skin felt more like home than scar tissue.

You wonder why,

How a girl who has the muscles to smile uses them to cry instead.

But, I'm good at looking like a happy girl because when you picture a suicidal girl, you do not see smiles and pink colours. You see scars and pitch black.