Behind Close Doors.

Behind closed doors is where the lies are stored.
Where the puddles are made, and bruises are found.
Where drops of blood are seen between the foot steps of darkness.
Behind closed doors children cry,

and father yells.
Where the safeness of a nurturing mother no longer lives.
Where slammed doors and the sound of broken glass are heard.
Behind closed doors is the sleeping girl,

With wounds so deep she begins to wither in death.
Where her room is so silent all you hear is the shallow, slow beating of

her heart that is dying.
Where pictures are broken and ripped.
Where stains of eyeliner create silhouettes on her pillow and the stains of blood from her fresh cuts form a river on her bed.
Behind closed doors she lays in despair and sadness.
Thinks of a more happy life as she puts on the fake mask for the world,

to hide the truth.
But behind closed doors hell breaks loose.
Behind closed doors a father drinks.
A brother smokes.
Sister sells her body.
And you are left to become insane.
Behind closed doors your humble home becomes distant.
Where everything seems to get

worse day by day and you can't stop it.
Where rage and sadness over comes her.
Where her body is suddenly the perfect victim for abuse.
Where happiness can't be reached.
Where perfection for a real family is way off course.
Behind closed doors you don't see the horror that she sees.
Where her mother's heart fails.
Her family falls apart.
And she suffers
Where she lays naked, torn apart at

her soul on the bathroom floor.
Where the razor is lodged in her

wrist and blood spills out.
Where the tub is over filled and water seeps through.
Behind closed doors anything and everything happens.
The things you can't relate to.
The things you can't see or feel.
Where you feel so helpless to this

poor girl, who cries in pain and horror.
Where she is lost and scared behind closed doors.

Flawless Picture Perfection

She had only wanted to be beautiful.
When she had still been full of youthful innocence -
eyes as glossy as the pages of her fashion magazines.
Every day she scanned the polished pictures;
the articles her survival manuals.
She realized her smile did not have
that up-tilted flare
and that her figure wasn't "exactly"

the right shape.

So she read their "tips".
The awe-inspiring words of a depressingly successful anorexic
who dared not voice the dirty "A" word,
but said "DIET" instead.

During nights of gazing at her reflection,
running hands over jutting bones;
whose sole purpose was to hang clothes off of,
she wrapped herself in her arms.

Reaching to her face
she felt the stiffness,
the shaped and sensual cheekbones
that finally showed through.

Her skin was hard and smooth;
so very white.
Porcelain
perfection.

A walk in the woods,
just to clear my head,
I come across a person lying face down,
BLEEDING,
DEAD,
I roll the corpse over,
And gasp in surprise,
I recognize the bludgeoned face,
I know those blue eyes.
I shout out in fear,
but I know no one will hear,
Because lying on the ground
under some mangled tree,
Is the lifeless body of someone I

know,
IT'S ME!

 ©2008 Copyright QueenOfAllEvil

Confessions

Confessions.
The kind that drip down your skin

Leaving small glistening lines

Lines that trace the cracks

Tracing them and disappearing into the darkness

Filling them and freezing

Freezing in the winter of our discontent

Making new lines in the fragile exterior

An exterior of porcelain cracking and crashing

Into nothing

The shell of trust a shattered mess

The final result of
These lies.

©2008 Copyright -Cyber-Trash-

 I cannot help but often wonder,

The world.
It's a funny place.
We see people of faith and people of sin.
Yet the people of faith believe
that they are the better.
They judge.
They question.
They accuse.
Yet it is those sinners

who accept.
Who live.
Who aid.
For the bible is only stories
and the heart is ever so true.
Faith can be blind,
but where are you?

Return to Contents