It was written on her arms.
Up and down, side to side.
Visible to your naked eye.
Each scar was a new chapter
in her enigmatic, sad story.
Quick to flinch and hide,
when you're caught contemplating the cover.
Self-inflicted, permanent scars only bring back never ending memories.
Never to be washed away or forgotten.
Never to be dead and gone.
Instead, she writes.
Never an end. Always conflicts.
Happiness and bliss does not exist.
Not in this story, it doesn't.
Numerous conflicts, one last to top it off.
Climax, then she decides to end it all.
Her only resolution.
Her writing stops, she puts her pen down.
And her story ends.