Writing words in his skin,
A young boy looks in the mirror.
He can no longer cry...
His chest rises and falls
Until it rises but falls no longer.
Never flat enough, he screams,
Slashing his wrists to prove he bleeds.
He wants to live... but can't
Seem to escape fate.
He was born wrong.
He doesn't look the way he wants.
He isn't right. Broken.
I am not your daughter.