Sleeves slip up in class, and you can see them

tiny white lines, one after another,

lines up in neat rows like soldiers.

She apologizes because she's sorry

they are a part of her dysfunctional life.

She doesn't want anyone to know;

She doesn't want anyone to hear;

She doesn't want anyone to see

the darkness inside of her.

Her hair falls over her eyes like a thick curtain,

they block out the brightness of the day.

What can she say? What can she do?

But she cries.

She cries.