The Poem House - new and open!

Thank god nobody's asked where she has been,
Just keep them thinking she's free of this sin.
Truthfully, that twisted young lady is hiding away,
God, and once, they would have asked her to stay.
She's dealing with issues she can't really explain,
But the simpliest sounds cause emotional pain.

Every day a thousand noises will hit her,
She's afraid that someday they'll finally split her.
If her skull cracks in two from her pulling it apart,
She'll paint her works in red and call them true art.
She loves herself but doesn't know who she is.
Romances no one; just ace - aro biz.
She won't be lonely by herself in her room,
When outside all the loud noises loom.

She can't find the motivation to listen anymore;
Existing out here has become quite the chore.
She doesn't want to die, though she's considered it at times,
Wishing her biggest problems could be finding rhymes.
They'll laugh at her but her rage isn't funny,
She's scared to get help; doesn't want to spend money.

She scrapes at her skin until her fat head bleeds,
Begging and pleading that nobody heeds.
She's asked to come down and forces a smile,
God damn it all, she's got some lovely denial.
There's nothing pretty about these sounds that she hears,
Because one of these days, she'll tear off her ears.

Her friends don't know; she hasn't told them yet,
But the more people she's close to the worse their sounds get.
She wants them to leave forever, just until they're gone,
Loving their company but remaining withdrawn.
She doesn't speak up but yells at her friends,
Won't have to hear them once the friendship ends.

No wonder writing always had an appeal;
Only then would the silence be real;
Talking online wouldn't make her look mad,
It wouldn't concern them that her brains had gone bad.
She stays up at night and wonders what's wrong,
Puzzling over how she's lasted this long.
She hears the people breathing and wants to cry;
She wants them to stop but she doesn't want them to die.
She doesn't want to hear pity, their words or their voice;
She'd make herself deaf if given the choice.

She's too wrapped up in her soundproof world;
In a ball on the bathroom floor she'll be curled.
She'd cry but she doesn't give enough effs to have tears,
Driven insane by all the noises she hears.
Would they be shocked by the truth?
The demented brain of an idiot youth?
She's going to see a doctor real soon;
Fingers crossed that she's not a loon.

A few will claim it's for the attention and fame,
But this constant torture isn't just some game.
Some will say that she's stupid and maybe they're right,
But their ignorance carries quite the strong bite.
Her misophonia has gone to the extremes,
And her innocent addiction is not as it seems.

The lying's compulsive and she's trying to quit,
So she's confessing in the only way she sees fit.
She won't be writing any stories or plots,
She can barely record coherent thoughts.
What happens next, they don't know yet.
She's physically fine so don't be upset.
What's up with her mind she isn't quite sure,
But let's hope to the Heavens that there's a cure.

She knows that she's written plenty of this pity parade,
But she was getting tired of the "can't talk about it" charade.
Her patience is gone and her motivation will melt;
It's been difficult enough to convey how this felt.
She hasn't written anything in a really long time,
And hopefully this garbage will pardon that crime.