MadManWithaBox
January 1st, 2011, 06:10 PM
Why can't she feel satisfaction?
Why can't she achieve bliss?
What stops her from looking at her own face
and smiling?
Why does her face always twist into a frown?
Her body is patterned with crimson scars
Red, zigzag, and rough.
These scars identify her for what she really is.
They laugh at her.
Her scars
mock her
and her dreams
She wants her skin to be
pure and smooth
She wants her body
To be
Just that 10 pounds lighter
then it'll be perfect
But it never will be to her
She has to make the laughing voices go away.
She makes another cut on her forearm.
Another. And another, until her arm is ablaze with pain and blood.
The blood drips from her like rain.
From her wrist, to the ground which absolves it. Her stifled sobs shake her frame.
She had let this happen. She knew it was wrong.
But she couldn't help herself. She couldn't stop until she was perfect.
If she'd never put the weight on.
If she'd told him, I love you.
Now she just her
Incomplete.
Useless.
Pathetic.
Alone.
And imperfect.
Why can't she achieve bliss?
What stops her from looking at her own face
and smiling?
Why does her face always twist into a frown?
Her body is patterned with crimson scars
Red, zigzag, and rough.
These scars identify her for what she really is.
They laugh at her.
Her scars
mock her
and her dreams
She wants her skin to be
pure and smooth
She wants her body
To be
Just that 10 pounds lighter
then it'll be perfect
But it never will be to her
She has to make the laughing voices go away.
She makes another cut on her forearm.
Another. And another, until her arm is ablaze with pain and blood.
The blood drips from her like rain.
From her wrist, to the ground which absolves it. Her stifled sobs shake her frame.
She had let this happen. She knew it was wrong.
But she couldn't help herself. She couldn't stop until she was perfect.
If she'd never put the weight on.
If she'd told him, I love you.
Now she just her
Incomplete.
Useless.
Pathetic.
Alone.
And imperfect.