Scars

Standing tall look at the blood running down her wrists Look at the blood as it drips off her legs Scissors held tightly in her hand as tears prick her brown eyes She wonders what's she done If it'll be the last time It's linked to her soul, Misery imprinted in her eyes But she knows she has to let go Of the cursed blade of silver She must let it go. Days pass as she holds the blade But a voice within her forbids her She doesn't cut, No she wouldn't dare Unless she'd hurt the one that she cares. Days and nights pass, Single thoughts of misery and pain Yet a small light feels her head The light of overcoming this dark pain Has been well lifted from her Two months have gone past, With only vague thoughts of her blade But her strength can and will prevail Unless she wants to hurt those who really truly care