Her nails violently tap.
Stop.!
Please . . .
I want it to not hurt so much.
They would flesh , they break hearts
And most importantly they define her.
Her nails are a symbol: a symbol of pain.
Like me she keeps secrets , to feel less: empty.
Like me , no one must know : she's dying.
Like me : she's holding herself together.
"May I go to the bathroom.?"
An excuse to end the pain.
I say nothing , I let her ease the hurt . . .
With a blade , a blade like my own.
Like me she's coping . . .
So she taps , cuts , and tears up.
