the razors were her best friends
the only source of control of the pain she endured.
her hair was falling out
her skin , pale as the snowy grounds of December.
no one ever cared
until they day she wore short sleeves and everyone got scared

I'll tell you a story
Of a girl who desired
All the pain to wash away
She tells you her problems, but all you say
"Don't think that way"
Being told is not advice
Even though she agrees,
She cries.
You wonder why she feels this away,
But all you do Is stand and stare.

She thinks you don't care,
But you do, do you not?

Those four words
Don't help anymore
But shows her the way
To ending her fate.

Those four words don't
Guide her the way.
Telling is not saving,
But listening may.