• Memories are left behind scars.
    Hidden in the dried blood.
    Buried underneath the scabs.
    Her skin is bruised purple.
    Shades of blue cover her thighs.
    Ugly scrapes wrap around her skin.
    She is embarrassed of them.
    She can’t wear shorts or dresses.
    She can’t be pretty.
    She can’t be a normal teenager.
    She can’t erase the past.
    She can’t take back what she has done.
    She can’t get rid of the regret.
    She is left to feel horrid.
    Masked by her mistakes.
    Veiled by the pain she has caused herself.
    Concealed by what she has done.
    Constant thoughts roam her mind.
    What if people saw?
    What would they do?
    Would they push her away?
    Call her ugly?
    Make fun?
    What if her parents found out?
    She is afraid of what would happen.
    What people would do if word spread.
    How would she handle it?
    They would say she is trying to kill herself.
    They would call her suicidal.
    Truth is,
    She doesn’t want to die.
    She isn’t trying to go that far.
    But if she did,
    She wouldn’t care.
    She’s sick of her life.
    But she doesn’t want to end it.
    She wants the pain.
    She wants to feel cold metal ripping through her skin.
    She wants to see her blood being spilt.
    She wants to taste the salty tears that stop at the corners of her mouth.
    She wants to hear her thoughts leave when her skin is opened.
    She knows she is addicted.
    She realizes that she can’t stop.
    She understands the consequences.
    She gets that there is a possibility of her being caught.
    But she doesn’t care.