I watch you 
As you 
Scratch your wrist 
With nails filed to a point 
Skin red
You feel pain 
Yet continue your own 
Punishment 
Curled up on the couch 
In the library 
The silent books 
Trying 
To offer comfort 
To your wounded soul 
The sun streams through the window 
Turns your raven hair 
To home spun gold 
And the stars 
Nestle themselves 
In your everlasting cold