mid-day-moon-light
Ashlee comes over to sit by me, taking my small hands in her only slightly bigger hands. Her ivory wrist are cover in white layered, long-sleeve shirt. She is beautiful, every inch of her body is beautiful. My wrist are ugly, covered in scars. The scars tell my sad story, they tell anybody who looks at them, that I hurt myself. They state that I am weak.I frown at this thought, regretting that I ever guided the blade forth on my skin. That I let my depression consume me. Wishing I could take it all back.