She looks at me desperately...
After the fifth time her heart has broken and now once again her parents play symphonies of"I told you so" and she's hoping inside that my laugher will ignite her smile that's concealed behind tears that have been falling for far too long.
Her self esteem falls every night just like water through the faucet of a rusted pipe. Her face bares marks of wars with herself because each time she puts in the effort, a part of her refuses to help. Her arms have become a canvas, this blade her story, she paints every day, enough to make someone worry.
They say to help one, one must help them self , but is that possible, when the possibility of hope isn't felt...
