sun-bleached seats.

sun-bleached scars

Written: 17/7-2017

Summer, 2016

"I don't want to go home."

"Okay."

There were many of them.

Painting her sun kissed thighs with beautiful white strokes,

covering her wrists in exotic pale patterns.

They even danced lightly over her soft tummy,

as if someone had carefully executed pirhouettes on a newly born ice.

It was frighteningly beautiful, her body.

Sometimes the girl forgot the only thing that kept her breathing,

sometimes she straight out refused.

And when she broke down into pieces in the other girls arms,

was the only moment you could slightly see the true meaning behind her drawings.

The other girl didn't know what to do,
only holding her close,

whispering words that by no means were true,
in an attempt to calm her down.

It didn't work,

as the pills were taken too late,

and who knew if she would live to see the daylight.

"Thank you for staying."

And it hurt to know that no one did.

Because her parents didn't care.

And her teachers didn't have time.

And her friends didn't exist.

And it hurt.

The girl was beautiful,

both body and mind.

But the only thing people saw, was a body full of sun-bleached scars.

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I wrote this months ago and I thought it would be a good idea to publish it instead of leaving it to rot among the drafts.