She paints a pretty picture
But this story has a twist
Her paint brush is a razor
The canvas is her wrists.
She paints her favourite colour,
A dark enticing red,
A line across the centre
Then diagonal instead.
She draws one line then another,
Different sizes different lengths,
All lines a different meaning,
A symbol of her strength.
She hides away her painting,
For fear someone might judge,
But they will be there forever-
The scars will never budge.
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