Pattern

I know I've been here before,-
As I sit here crying on the bathroom floor.
Cleaning up the crimson liquid,-
Shaking away memories that are still too vivid.
Glad no one is home with me,-
Can't risk having them see.
Mascara and eyeliner are smudged on my face,-
As a tear rolls down my sickly pale face.
I step out into the rain,
And wonder what's to gain.
With a hollow heart,-
I'm falling apart.
I'm in the middle of the street,-
Where the rain and concrete meet.
I think of my family,-
Do they truly know me?
Someone stares at me confused,-
I look bloody, pale, abused.
I run down the road,-
Not knowing where to go.
Byron Center, it's a busy street,-
Where rubber and steel meet.
Two bright circles coming my way,-
And all my fears are washed away.