Just a sad poem. I'm recovered from my self harm and everything. But I never stopped writing.


1. It's a poem, it doesn't have chapters.

Cuts on her arms
Blood on the floor
Voices in her head
A lock on the door
Letters in her room
Black in her heart
Life is a demon
Death is an art
A hospital room
Empty and clean
But no no was around
To hear her scream
She should never
Have gotten away
Too bad no one
Was home that day
She was hurting
But no one could see
She didn't want to die
She just wanted to be free

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