Anonymous-Noir

agony rushes through her veins pulsing through her soul how long until she can let this all go? she longs for the day when silver meets crimson no more and the day when she throws the razor out the door because when she locks herself in the bathroom bleeding, crying, living in her gloom, she realizes she's a statistic; a fact 'how many teen cutters?' and others like that she wants to put the knife down, why can't they understand? that every time grief hits her it winds up in her hand she knows it could be dangerous fatal, even, to some but she still sits there, feeling glum even though she knows so many have it so much worse