Deep.
So deep,
The knife slices and dices up her skin.
On her arms and legs. Trying to feel something, anything.
The old scars fade but new ones will soon form whenever she is left alone.
Her mother pesters her with questions,
"What happened dear?"
"Are you alright?"
"How did these get there?"
She brushes it off with an, "I fell." or "It's just a scratch."
She climbs the staircase to her room,
Finds the secret drawer and pulls out her biggest blade.
Sometimes she cuts a little, and sometimes she cuts a lot.
But this time, she aims it at her throat
And cuts as deep as she can.
Slowly watching the blood run down her neck,
Until things start to become fuzzy and dark.
She gives one last cut, deeper than ever before.
And for the first time in a long time, she feels.
Feels pain, but at least that's  something. Anything.
Her body slumps to the floor
And she lets out a whisper,
*"I'm free."