A silent scream, that's what I have always been. Never too much, but never too little. Never too loud, but sometimes a fever. A well kept secret. A child without a real name. A stranger living in the depths of who I am. So today I scream, I scream for what I could've been, and that is more than just a silent, little scream. I wasn't really born, I was most likely thrown right out of the beyond holy world. The glass cut into my frozen skin, carved me out of an icy gleam, but they didn't notice I was slowly melting and suddenly I was nothing. I was fading, I was dying, but despite, they looked away while I was dancing In the golden, honey flames of fury. Their eyes were sealed, and swen and bloody. Mine were wide, and full of godless blurry. I yell, but no one seems to hear my "sinful" lies, or "pretty" cries. I rot. The silent scream that I was born in was the casket I had to live within. So in the end, I died more than I've ever lived, and listened more than I've ever screamed.