My Savior

The scars are on my arms as I wash away fresh tears.

"How long?" She asks, "Way too long" I respond.

I am wearing a baggy sweatshirt and pants.

Underneath I am sore, beaten, dying.

Bulimrexia, depression, anxiety; I am too familur with the dirty words too focus.

She holds me as I yell and cry for her to help me.

Her arms are like pillows of clouds, soft and familiar.

Her eyes are like mine full of sorrow and fire.

I show her mr wrists that have seen too much.

Brain-dead, Screw up, and loser are carved into my skin.

Perpendicular lines all over my arms and legs.

She saved me, got me help, when no one else would.

My mentor, my friend, my savior.