The Crying Banshee

I'm an empty shell.
I don't feel a thing,

just this ricocheting silence screaming like a dying banshee, crying for help.

But her cries were silent- never heard till her last breath.

All those pleas for help fell upon death ears, and now her faith is dead.

After all the pain and torment, all the blows she's taken- her bleeding mind has had enough; it created a barrier.
She couldn't feel, she couldn't love. She was incapable of feelings.
She was numb, as if anesthesia ran through her brain.
She was nothing; just an empty shell.
She tried so hard to feel again, but perhaps she will never be able to? It was useless, her efforts.
No matter how much she tried, she couldn't destroy the barrier to feel again.

It was so close, yet so far.

But sometimes she thanked the barrier. Sometimes, it was better not to feel anything at all. Sometimes, it was better to be alone.
Being alone meant that you'd be safe; you wouldn't get hurt as much. But the cold emptiness of being alone- was it worth it?
And was pretending to be happy worth it as well?

The forced smiles, the forced words and the forced laughs. She wasn't truly happy.
She never was.
Her mind might be numb, but her heart continues to break. It never stops bleeding.
And one day when she's had enough, all she needs would be some poison-
Then she would be set free.

Its a ticking timebomb. Just one strong tide, a powerful relapse and it would all end.

There was once a crying banshee, screaming for help, but no one ever heard her pleas.
She looks at her reflection, and there I was;
The crying banshee.