She looks in the mirror
Can't see past the "ugly"
She won't find help, so she finds an escape
She paints a pretty picture,
Liquid crimson leaks down her arms.
Slits and scars can't tear this girl apart.


It's the name calling,
Behavior that's appalling,
That makes her add to her pretty picture.
As she touches the blade,
She knows she'll fade.
A heart cannot be repaired when broken too many times,
She paints the pretty picture,
Not committing any crimes.


She's broken and can't be fixed,
She's hurt and her feelings are mixed.
She paints the pretty picture releasing her sadness.
Now she is wounded and punished,
Not a bad bone in her body.
She feels useless as she slices away at her canvas.


She cringes and winces,
But she won't give up.
For she has to paint a pretty picture,
And it can only be made out of the beautiful burgundy she adores.
As she examines herself,
She doesn't see anything beautiful just a decrepit soul.
She cannot stop,
Her pretty picture picture isn't complete yet.


When she is out in public,
She wears long sleeves to cover her war zone.
She doesn't want the ridicule
That comes with being a teenager.
She thinks that she is super weird,
But it is all in the way she appeared.
She is only holding on by a thread,
Threatening to slip,
But she isn't done with her pretty picture.


Now that the closet is empty,
And drawers no longer full,
The people around her forget, she was even there.
A rope with a knot hanging from above,
At the ceremony they released a dove.
As the blade is propped in the trash,
In a vase sits her soul's ash.
Her scars are all faded,
From the blade that once skated.
Now that she has permanently fainted,
Her picture is completely painted.