And slowly, she began to forget the sadness
Until she glanced down at her right thigh.
As if she opened up a history book,
Her body told a story of the past.
Past events, past people, past emotions,
Can all read through her finger tips
When she brushed against her leg.
Like braille to the blind,
Her fingers danced over the mortal novel,
Sending goose bumps across her skin.
To the naked eye, its just self-inflicted scars,
However she saw much more.
She saw the, “You’re a failure”.
She saw the, “You’re faking it”.
She saw the “I don’t want to hear it anymore”.
She saw the “Choose cutting and I’ll leave”.
And although she hated having those words turn into permanent scars,
These thoughts made her crave more
And suddenly, she began to forget the happiness.
