I wonder what it’s going to take for you to believe me.

Another sleepless night?
Another cut?
A deep cut. So deep the room screams scarlet.
Or maybe some pills, perhaps a few too many.
Maybe I should die, then you’d definitely notice.
And you’d swear I was always so happy, the life of the party.

But I was broken.

This white plaster conceals the words never spoken.
The writing upon my arm.

Covering that white writing,
Hugging it,
Keeping it safe.
Letters to myself.

That white writing that burns red,
Turning white at the hands of time.

Those words that were shallow, Meaningless,
Eradicated totally.

But those deeper words...
Those early hours,
Empty rooms.

Eternally white writing