She looks down at her porcelain skin
Ivory and flawless along her wrist
Closing her eyes she thinks back
To all the opportunities she missed

Her right hand holds the silver
And her left hand holds the past
Pulling closer into herself, tensing
She will try not to move too fast

One smooth motion, and then another
Tears gather but do not bother to fall
They would not mean anything right now
Weapon in hand, she leans against the wall

She likes the way it feels, she thinks
Both like hurting and being healed
The scars remind her that she's human
They could never fully be concealed

She believes that it makes her beautiful
The crimson flow contrasted by her skin
For once she is in control of her life
No one needs to tell her where to begin

Lifting the steel from her arm, coming back
Her cheeks now burning with shame
Why would she do such a thing again?
Doesn't she hear the world calling her name?