Scissors

Thu, 05/22/2014 - 11:53 -- mjboger

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Like a stone in a lake
 slowly dragging and unwavering to release
 
Barely able to breath
her heart cried out  for a conscience and leash
 
Impossible to comprehend the guilt
Her only comfort was in her scissors
 
Carrying them in her pocket wherever she went
Her orange-handled friends  
 
She found comfort in her punishment. 
A torture and relief. 
 
The blades were her whip
Her guilt was her agony
 
She listened to opinions on how a life should be 
But the ones who shared took lives for greed 
 
Ringleaders painted the pictures and cubs turned into lions. 
Consciences were scarce and the world turned on itself.
 
Her blades were becoming friendlier
Her friends were turning sharper. 
 
Followers were the currency. 
Likes were a false smile.
 
Putting bracelets aside sleeves were her new cover
Blacks and blues became her tattoos 
 
Her room was her dungeon
Her blades were her cell-mate
 
Black became her color and red was her hope
Digging deeper, until the flow broke
 
Mourners were called for 
Loved ones were asked
 
But no one remembered that little girl
The one with the scissors in her hand

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