Bracelets.
Intricate weaving,
Heavy breathing,
Sharp pains,
Quick thoughts,
She tightens the knots.
She’ll strangle them into a masterpiece.
As beautiful, and innocent as her face.
So vibrant,
Too young,
Now withering with heavy thoughts.
Her head is now throbbing,
Dragging her sorrow.
Like an empty box of lead.
“Feel something.”
She says,
Only moving her lips.
Because bracelets,
They cover up the slits.
They suffocate the thoughts.
Bracelets cover the pain.
The blade calls to her,
It knows her by name.
It’s got a hold of her,
Forcing her shaking wrists to tame.
No one will notice.
They would never even look.
Not inspecting something they’d never expect.
It’ll go on,
Till those tiny slits,
Make way to dripping wounds,
She’ll hide them,
Until a point where she is doomed.
She feels no fire.
No cannot conjure up a soul.
The bracelets hid it all.
Her childhood they stole.
She lays water to skin,
Fighting for her breath.
The once clear and pure water,
Turns an ugly red.
She looks up to the ceiling,
Blank and cold.
It’s nothing she’ll be feeling.
Cause “nothing” got so old.
I wrote this poem when I was 14 when I found out that my best friend was starting to cut. I was looking through an old blog of mine, and I thought I'd post it.