I know her pain.
She never takes off her sweater,
she says she's just cold.
But I know what's under it's sleeves.
Bruises, inflicted by others,
friends, enemies, family.
Cuts, inflicted by herself,
because of liars,
cheaters,
deceivers.
If it's too hot to where a sweater,
she wears bracelets up to her elbows.
To cover them up.
No questions,
no problems.
This is her motto.
Crying herself to sleep,
because she feels hated,
hated by the world.
I know her pain,
because I am her.
This is the pain.
the pain inside my soul.
It's not physical for me,
but it is for her,
she is my soul.
Her pain, my pain.