“Love on her arms”

I don’t know what it is about her that makes me wonder
Could it be those marks, the sad look in her eye?
Maybe it’s her bruises; maybe it’s what lies under
Each pulse of her heart, a call to the angels
Like a dying candle, she is fading
She has to hide this; it’s her words she strangles
The doors locked, there’s no one home, there’s no point in staying
When you laugh at her dirty clothes, I bet no one knows
She’s broken inside, it’s her dreams she can’t seem to find
The thing that is good, the thing that is bad. It calls her name
Slice and dice, it feels real nice
Inject yourself with the love you need
Why do you want to make yourself bleed?
No intention on where to go, I saw her 2 days ago walk ten miles in the cold and snow
The blade writes a love letter to the man that raped her
A slit on each damned wrist because she feels she doesn’t exist
Go and pop a pill because there is just no longer any will
The needle eases her weary head
Nauseating, frightening, traumatizing
The tale of her face. A forgotten life, what a disgrace
She no longer sleeps
She’s traveled so far, they say. You don’t know.
Trailor trash, they say. You don’t know.
Every night she wishes upon a shooting star
I couldn’t tell you why she feels that way
Everyday I watch her make the same mistakes
A cut for her failures
A cut for her unexisting mother
A cut for her unexisting father
A cut for another
A story is written on her wrist
A story for the hopeless
A story is written for the boy who doesn’t give her the time of day
I saw her tattooed wrists
One more cut one more prick she insists
Spiraling down, she cries
I have not seen her walking
I heard whispers when your seat was empty
We read your story and I’m very sorry
You were drowning and no one was there to be
Shock and sadness on many faces
We were just too blind to see

By Rosemarie varriale