She skinned her knees crawling through her emotions
She opened her veins on paper and let the thick blood come trickling out
Her heart is made of glass and if you touch it light enough it will break into two, releasing a new beat
She lost her sight in love
She carved words on her chest as if without them she couldn't rest
She scratched words on her throat and clawed them on her tongue like they were her new oxygen supply.

She is a poem who I'm glad lived.