she sits,
crying
staring at the razor
wondering
to pick it up or to leave it be?

. . .

that is now the ultimate question
minutes pass,
they feel like hours
her cyring continues
reaching,
she picks up the blade

. . .

one cut and all is well
as the blood comes out
the pain leaves too
there are no more problems
there are no more shattered hopes
no more disappointments

. . .

her crying ceases
putting on make-up
she hides the tears
walking outside

. . .

no one notices
to the rest of the world shes fine
a girl like her doesnt have problems
and even if she did. . . who would care?



 
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