The void grew,
Darker and stronger;
Sucking in every ounce of her happiness,
Like her own, personal black hole.
The nightmares grew,
Scarier and vivider,
Till she forgot to tell the real from the imagined
And continued to merely exist in this hellhole.
Existing, not living.
Surviving, but barely so.
She desired one last drink From the fountain of Life,
But for her there remained only the last of dregs.
That light at the end of the tunnel?
It was ever elusive, like a shimmery mirage.
No silver lining existed in her dull, cloudless sky.
No sliver of hope shone through from the dense foliage closing in on her.
A hollow shell of her former self,
She still endured.
Why though? One might ask.
She’d manage a barely there smile
Sometimes, it takes a while
For a carnage to get cleared.
Sometimes, one needs to take some time
To examine their own wreckage.
Sometimes, you need to stay broken,
Before you start to heal.
So instead of a patchwork of wounds, cuts and bruises,
You can feel whole again.
Sometimes you need to drown in a chasm,
For your lungs to open up.
You gasp, you flail, you think you’re about to die;
But you see, darling, the order of life,
You need to sink, before you can swim.