Mask.

I wish I could.
Could come out.
From behind this mask.

This prison.
Without love.
Without sight.

This old mask can only hide so many things.
It may hide my face.
It may hide my voice.
It may hide my feelings.
But can it hide me?

Can it trap me?
Can it cover me?
Can it stop me?
Stop me from hearing the voices?

The voices that tell me.
Tell me to hurt myself.
To cut myself.
To make myself bleed.
To make myself feel pain.
And misery.
And make me feel forgotten.
Unloved and unhappy.

The voices that try to make me.
They try to form me.
They try and succeed.
Every time.
I have no choice.
I have no voice.
I'm no longer me.
But the girl who hides.
Hides behind that old mask.

That black mask.
The one with tears.
Tears made of blood.
Without a face.
With nothing but pain.