The lines of red she's carved
Wrap in squiggled ropes around her wrists
The red bands of beading blood 
Snap to the surface of her porcelain skin
Stained pink
Trails of purple bubbled scars trace her thighs
Little mountains of pain
As the swelling goes down
The pain only increases 
Little snakes of bad days past
Slither up her arms and whisper
"You're never good enough"
As she drags the silver sword down her body
She nods her head and agrees
With the demon of scars past