In the dead of night, she wept in silence, feeling the cold grip of despair,
Her heart racing with dread, at the mere mention of her name in the air.
Once a soul at peace, now engulfed in turmoil unseen,
Struggling to find solace, in a world so cruel and mean.
Each night, she painted her pain on her skin so frail and white,
A canvas of scars, a haunting testament to her inner fight.
Her diary held her truths, locked away from prying eyes,
Each word a plea for help, a silent echo of her cries.
Masking her sorrow with a facade of indifference and grace,
Hiding the cracks in her spirit, behind a stoic face.
Longing for a beacon in the darkness, a guiding light,
A hand to hold her steady, through the darkest of night.
Alone in her struggles, she sought out a friendly face,
A pillar of strength, in this endless, lonely race.
Yearning for a touch of warmth, a voice to calm her fears,
To dry the tears that fell, in lonely, silent tears.
She sought refuge in the shadows, where her secrets lay concealed,
A shattered soul in pieces, her wounds still unhealed.
Praying for a savior, a guardian angel to appear,
To chase away the darkness, and her doubts and fears.
The nights grew longer, the shadows deeper, in her lonely heart,
Lost in a world of sorrow, drifting further apart.
Hoping for a lifeline, a lifeline to rescue her sinking heart,
To pull her from the depths, and set her free, to restart.
So she wept in silence, in the cover of the night,
Lost in her despair, consumed by her plight.
Longing for a friend, a hand to hold her tight,
To guide her through the darkness, into the morning light.
- Jhordaine Aguilar 10/01/2024
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