Damned.

She is as soft

as a cotton feather.

And as sensitive

as a baby’s skin.

 

But deep down,

Lies a monstrous soul.

Suppressing everything,

It grew to be mean.

The mask she wears
For other people’s pleasure

Hides the darkest corners

Of her mind.

At the crack of dawn,

The cover cracks like glass.

And starts to unleash,

The demon behind.

Now awake,

A little groggy.

It’s as if the monster

Had left her being.

But no one knows,

It’s always there.

Evermore, underneath,

Slowly breathing.

Battling the demon

Has always been tough.

They think she’s okay,

Assuming as always.

They’re not cognizant

Of what she actually deals with

A constant battle

That’s been going on for days.

Or weeks.

Or years.