The Music Helps Her Sleep

She sits, she waits.
All is silent.
She picks up the object she has gotten to known really well.
It's covered in remaints and memories of what she's been doing to herself the last few weeks.
Does no one care?
Can no one help her, tell her to stop?
No, they can't.
She doesn't wasn't help.
She wants to be free.
She lifts it up.
The coldness of the metal touching her skin makes her shiver.
But she does not stop.
No,she will not stop until she stops the tears.
But they continue to fall.
The wet saltiness runs down her face and the arm that lays inches away from her face.
The stop a minute or two later.
But this time it's too late.
Someone cared.
Someone wanted to help her.
But they couldn't.
She puts the object away.
Where no one can find it.
But it doesn't matter, they won't look anyway.
She walks, but this time its too her room.
Her arms are covered.
Bandages and sleeves.
She lays down and closes her eyes.
She knows she did it.
She knows it went in deeper than before.
But she doesn't care.
Music plays in the background.
She can't tell what song it is.
The guitar plays a sweet melody.
The singer sings his beautifully disturbing lyrics.
The bass goes along, smooth and nice.
The drums pound a vicious beat that makes her sleepy.
And so she does.
She keeps her eyes closed.
Wishing, not for another tomorrow.
In the morning no one will know.
But someone will care.
And her wish is granted.