prev. 'free the poems'
she writes angry words
on her arms and wrists
from bands that preached
unrequited love and angst.
and at night she wishes that
the scars on her wrists were
real.
- - -
image credit: death to the stock photo
'A tear welled up in her eye, and felt of her cheek. More and more tears are coming up, but she wouldn't cry, she did but didn't like it all. "Calum, please let my wrist go" was the only thing she said with her shaky voice. She leaved her hand between her legs so you couldn't see her scars.'
Quote from chapter 9