She made it through to 12 going on 13.
Unfortunately for her.
And even when the cuts were so conspicuous.
When they spilled off her wrists and onto her hands.
Off her shoulders and onto her neck.
All over her body.
Even when there were more cuts than skin.
And the water flowed red in the bath.
Or in the pool when her mother or father made her go swimming.
Her secret was safe.
And she kept on going.
More and more and more.
More pain.
More blood.
More scars.
YOU ARE READING
One More Life
RandomA short story told as a collection of poem style parts. It centres around the life of a girl as she struggles with depression, self harm and suicide. Potential trigger warning.
