I haven't written in about five years because I used drugs to numb all of the pain SPD caused me, which sadly numbed my creativity too. This is my first attempt at writing something in YEARS.

THE VAULT

Underneath my skin, buried deep within
Twisted sickly, dark and wrapped quite thickly
It's always been, a vault without a key and no way in
The place where who I used to be is trapped and pinned
The places where I used to be are photographed and framed,
the dates are all in tact and the names are linked to facts that I don't want to think about again.
That I wish I could forget but they're forever chained.
Like the scars across my veins,
the needles and the blades,
that coxcomb crimson shade and the deliverance of pain.
It's a never ending loop, perpetually punishing my brain,
for the thoughts it thinks and things I've done are completely fucked up and insane.
Just movies that stay playing of my heart breaking and swaying,
of my innocence decaying and the fact that it was taken, plus the people that were taking any part of it I gave them.
Ever since I've needed saving
(as if that really needed saying)
and I pray for some salvation,
but every time I try to fake it,
I ***** it worse than they can take it...
and then they're just another wasted blur of parts of me forsaken.

Very moving. Thank you for sharing.