She made art on her arms.
All of her most detailed memories were written in lines of scars.
Slices of melancholy flowed like rivers on her wrists.
The poetry of it all meant that she was too flawed to forget.
She dreads her constantly bruised fists.
How damaged can she get?
She's already ruined all of her relationships.
She sits at home only to find the company of netflix.
It's so lonely so she finds herself on twitter, only to find that her best friend has been ignoring her.
She hates how she can be so possessive.
It flows out from her sea of anger.
The absence of peace and tranquility gives her so much anxiety.
That's why she stops eating.
Her parents don't know it, but she didn't skip dinner just because she was loaded up with homework.
She sits in her room and repeats the process of what happens when her anger starts to control her.
It ******* ***** to be irascible.
Someone send her to a mental hospital.
Maybe then her existence will be somewhat irrefutable.