Anonymous

She gazes around at the ruins that now she must call home. Shallow graves are made for the ones that were lost. Little pieces of herself she watched die. Like children of her own, but there is no grief. For some were stolen from her by a thief. Can she be blamed for being ashamed? She lightly touches a spot on her neck, to check the pulse that tells the only truth she knows. Beating against her finger tips, she is aware that she is no longer scared. Every day is a war, and every night an escape. The only reality she can safely run too. Her dreams keep her alive. The fantasy world she plays in, a place her imagination is locked in, her freedom. No rules condemn her, no bad feelings crowd her, where her good is good enough. Like a flower, shrinking back down to its roots. Will it ever grow again? She shrinks down to gain herself. Feed off of what is hers, hers alone. Nobody may never know. May never hold the key that will unlock her. The key that would unleash her from herself. Because if she was, somebody great might be known, somebody nobody knows.