She turns up her music
And locks her door
And she tries to be quiet.
So no one will hear her blade go snicker snack.
So no one will hear her tears go splitter splat.

She puts on mascara and a long sweater
And locks up those two green doors to her soul
And she tries not to cry out in sorrow.
So none will see how she’d cut and cried.
So no one will see how she’d all but died.

She puts on perfume
And zips up a scented jacket
And she tries not to yelp when the fresh cuts hurt.
So no one will smell her eyes’ salty flood.
So no one will smell the scent of her blood.

She turns up her smile and charm
And hides her pain in some dark corner
And she tries not to cry.
So no one will search her arms for the scars.
So no one will fell her soul’s iron bars.