The Silent Destruction Of A Wounded Soul

She had nothing to cling on,
So she relented and watched ,
As the blade splintered her entire being.
She beamed;
Beamed because for her, 
It was absolutely a liss.

She didn’t have to thole again,
She didn’t have to take another step toward destruction,
She didn’t have to see the monster,
That broke her into that state anymore,
The blade had it all sorted.

Wasn’t that the freedom she craved for?
She had never uttered of it.
Of the silent executions she went through ,
When the world was quietly musing from the sides.
She never uttered of the cold nights,

When she was always numb to the pain ,
From her fresh wounds that tore deep into her being.
The pain that reminded her,
Of the monster that existed in her life,

Because to her, that didn’t matter;
She’s always been reclusive anyway.
She watched as blood trickled all over her,
And somehow, she felt unshackled.

She embraced the relief that came with it,
Her right orb let out a lone tear,
She watched the world fade before her,
And felt the coldness of the end slowly crawling in.

Her hands felt the blood on her.
She smiled.
It  has always been like that;
Fresh, warm, and bright red,
Never truly dimming.