She sits there staring at her wrist

Blade in hand

She begins to draw thin lines

Bursts of red exploding from her skin

Voices of her classmates and even herself

Scream at her words of destruction

Ugly. Freak. Pathetic. Whore.

Tears mix with blood

And these liquids are meant to be washing this pain away

But it still remains

Cold and unforgiving

Instilled in her mind and soul

The question is escape