Fragments of the Broken

She

There she goes again, assisting the ones in need, while her wounds still bleed.

There she goes again after reading something they wrote.

She texted them, called them, sent them a voice or multiples.

She does this every time.

There she goes again giving away another piece of her heart, unaware or maybe aware after all that it will be torn apart.

There she goes again, smiling although she feels like dying, as she is keeping her head up.

There she is again, sitting on the edge of her bed.
Consoling, helping, and keeping (kinda) everything under control.

And as she finishes helping, by either calming them or giving them advice, there are still other waiting for a reply.

And some of them mistreat her, and she doesn't mind, she is pretty much used to all of this in her life.

She helps others as much as she can, to distract herself from the wounds, she carries that no one understands (or so she thinks).

Maybe there is something oddly familiar of this girl, maybe just maybe, she is just like me. Or maybe I am the one receiving I am the one who is being helped as I bleed.