Pacing the room, like a caged animal

Her thoughts are slowly killing her.

Too fat.

Too loud.

Too ugly.

Not good enough. 

A familiar itch pulls her to her closet, 

A box of razors.

Her secret stash. 

She pulls one out.

Hands shaking.

Tears streaming.

She draws a red line across her thigh. 

One cut.

Two cut.

Three cut.


Too many to count. 

Minutes pass like hours,

And she is spent.

Lying on the floor, 

Wishing herself away from this hell.

She regrets the first cut she ever made. 


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