Things

She Paints A Pretty Picture

She paints a pretty picture,
But this story has a twist.
Her paintbrush is a razor,
Her canvas is her wrist.

She doesn't wince or make a sound
As she digs her weapon in
She just stares blankly ahead
As her inner demons win

She cuts her arm with precision
Deep enough but not too deep
And when she's done she covers up
And cries herself to sleep

People around don't notice
Or maybe they don't care
That her arms are always covered
Hiding what is there

She walks around the school
Tugging her sleeves in fear
That someone may discover
Her end is almost here

At home she finds her skipping rope
And searches the best knot
Secures the end way up high
Ready to be forgot

She finds a piece of paper
And writes out her final words
"Mum and Dad it's not your fault,
I'm just tired of feeling unheard."

"I can't deal with the pain any longer
And I hope that you will see
That none of this is down to you
I know that you both loved me."

"I just want you both to know
How much I love you too
I'm just not cut out for this
But from Heaven, I'll watch over you."

No one knows she's hurting
She stands upon a chair
Tears fall upon her cheeks
Life is so unfair

She puts the rope around her neck
And says a final prayer
She turns her face up to the sky
"God, I'm almost there."

She takes a deep shaky breath
And holds herself steady
She doesn't even stop to think
She knows that she is ready

She takes one final glance around
And shuts her eyes tight
And with a final leap of faith
Out goes another light

She paints a pretty picture
But this story has a twist
The picture is her sister
As she finally welcomes bliss