Scissors
Location
Like a stone in a lake
slowly dragging and unwavering to release
Barely able to breath
her heart cried out for a conscience and leash
Impossible to comprehend the guilt
Her only comfort was in her scissors
Carrying them in her pocket wherever she went
Her orange-handled friends
She found comfort in her punishment.
A torture and relief.
The blades were her whip
Her guilt was her agony
She listened to opinions on how a life should be
But the ones who shared took lives for greed
Ringleaders painted the pictures and cubs turned into lions.
Consciences were scarce and the world turned on itself.
Her blades were becoming friendlier
Her friends were turning sharper.
Followers were the currency.
Likes were a false smile.
Putting bracelets aside sleeves were her new cover
Blacks and blues became her tattoos
Her room was her dungeon
Her blades were her cell-mate
Black became her color and red was her hope
Digging deeper, until the flow broke
Mourners were called for
Loved ones were asked
But no one remembered that little girl
The one with the scissors in her hand