We all want to be special to someone.
Irreplaceable.
But art is dead
No new creation
Yet he saw the best in me
Until I was destroyed.
My creation ripped
And burned from me
So maybe it's still there?
But when I look
All I see is death
Dark nothingness
And now I hear
No voices
Except my own
I died that day too

I said no to the razor 

So it just

sits there

Heavy

I scream 

And 

I dream 

of ripping 

Whatever

This is

Out

Is it too frightening to look at? 

Would I break?

Why is it still there? 

I've risen from the ashes 

Yet it lingers

Immune to my destructions

The shadow in the corner

My own evil?

Inner hell.