She once was bright, she once could feel,
but now her world was cold and steel.
July had claimed a friend so dear,
and left behind a hollow year.

She saw him hang, she saw him go,
his body swayed so soft, so slow.
No final words, no last goodbye,
just silence hanging in July.

She walked through life, a vacant frame,
each whisper blurred, each face the same.
She spoke, she laughed, but not with truth—
just echoes of her shattered youth.

She pressed her nails against her skin,
to see if she was real within.
The first was light, a fleeting thread,
but soon the lines ran deep and red.

A single cut, a single mark,
to feel again, to chase the spark.
But deeper still, she carved her grief,
until the pain became relief.

The mirror showed a vacant stare,
a girl who wasn’t really there.
Aurora was a name now lost,
her warmth consumed by winter’s frost.

No sun would rise, no stars would shine,
no hands would reach, no arms entwine.
She walked the world, but not as whole—
a body here, without a soul.

A breath, a blade, a weary sigh,
a hollow girl who waits to die.