The Cutter

October 9, 2010
The lines on her wrist
Still seeping crimson drops of her soul
No one sees
Dark circles line her eyes
Grey streaks mar her porcelain face
Her paper heart, kept away
Bound by locks, barbed wire, chains
The oceans she's cried
None will know
Her twisted story
Pushed back to the depths of her closet
To live forever with the skeletons

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