She cries while sitting on her bed

Her head filled with memories of dread

Pulling at her hair and scratching at her skin

She can’t get the feel of him off her again

As she rocks back in forth holding her knees she sings

Of never being the one who made a scene

She pulls the covers up to her neck now

And the razor blade from under her pillow

She makes two cuts down her arm

And closing her eyes she takes her mind off everything else

She lets the warm blood pour down her arm soothing her

She closes her eyes and floats off into her own bliss

The only thing that she can control

By the time her mother finds her

She will already be dead

With a note beside her head saying