My ears perked up at the sound of her cries. She was always a quiet one, not to be told what to do. When she cried the whole world would stop and listen to those pitter patter cries hitting the concrete stairs leading to a building everyone thinks is "safe", school. Inside the building, gray clouds line the walls, her footing was falling behind. Thoughts raced every which way besides the right way. She was thousands of miles away, lost in thought, trying to escape her pain, but every time the opening was in sight, she fell down farther than before. She wanted to give up on, life, her thoughts, everything. Life wasn't worth living when she could escape her never-ending nightmare. Inside of giving up, she wanted to show everyone, she was stronger than they perceived her to be. With a razor blade in one hand and a wet cloth in the other, she sketched each word onto her body. Blood flowed, giving her the relief she needed. The cloth laid on the edge of the tub, dripping of blood, cloaking the pain beneath. She wanted to feel anything, but nothing came as chunks of her skin covered the white, now red, tub. She was never a one for the brightness. All she had was darkness clouding her thoughts, minds, eyes. She was never safe. The words traveled far, deep into her mind. She wasn't going to be good enough to live. She was the hangman to every girl's mouth. She was fading fast and the wrong words suffocated her even more. She was a code blue within moments. Words traveled far like the wrong letter hung a person. Words can kill.