It feels like my wrists are burning
Blood is dripping down my arms
My head keeps screaming
I shouldn't of self-harmed.
My mom is going to be mad.
She's going to hit me again.
Give me another bruise.
Now my scars have some friends.
Just wash off the blood.
Dry off with the towel.
Wrap up your arms.
Go back to your personal bubble.
Isolate yourself for another week little girl.
Take you medicine.
And jump off the hill.

I will spread dirt into every crevice of my broken heart and plant flowers so big and beautiful, that their roots will mend all the shattered pieces back together, and you’ll never be able to see the mess I used to be.