you cant exactly see my
scars.
theyre thin white lines
across my wrist.
barely even visible.
but, the tanner i become
the more visible they
are.

they are the stories of my
desperation.
the lies i listened to.
the thoughts inside of
my head.
the fear
the hate
the love
they are my heart
ripped open over and
over again till more and
more blood pours.

these thin white lines
are me even when i
dont want them to be.

i wish i could give him
a close up.

there once was a girl
who was an artist, but
here's the twist
a razor was her paintbrush
and the canvas was her
wrist.

"Ugly" "Fat" "Worthless"
they were written
word for word
nobody thought otherwise
after-all, that girl is so
happy, that'd be
absurd.

one night it was raining
and the thoughts became
to much
she reached for her
blades and blood
poured out with just
one touch.

the next morning her
parents found her,
it was an "accident"
they would say.
because after-all,
whould'a thought that
their happy daughter
wasn't okay?

She fought endlessly for
her life, but it
was all to much to
handle
little did she know that
she'd be one of many in
this suicide
scandal.