Ever wonder
If the gashes and bruises on her hands weren't from the hard work, but unleashed when she got lost in her self-loathing too close to a wall
Or
If maybe he's not cold, maybe that sweater is hiding the cruelty of the night on a damaged soul
Or
If it wasn't that she has two sports a day that made her so tiny, maybe the words in her childhood tortured her, cutting off her food supply
And
Maybe it wasnt an accident, dispite what he says, that made those splotches where his skin was savagely overheated