Her

she has nightmares
terrible, terrible nightmares
nightmares that would make a grown man cry
she’s become accustomed to them
replaying them over and over again when the day dawns
wishing that they would come true.

she runs home after a hellish day
fighting her urges at school
only to come home
going straight to the drawers.

a box of sharp objects calls out her name
waiting to be held by her quivering hands.
in the corner she cowers and loses control
letting the little silver blade take over her mind
and taking over the clear, pale skin on her body.

she smiles and she’s shaking
staring at the crimson dripping
drip, drip, drip
right onto the floor
but she doesn’t feel a thing
she knows the scars will appear and will not leave
but she feels relaxed
as she makes the lone red line
into a bunch of lines
then a whole group
until there is no space left.

tears fall
mixing with the blood pooling on the floor in front of her.
a towel can fix up this mess,
but she’ll need something stronger for the mess in her head.
maybe some pills, she thinks
maybe more than a few.

not today, she says.
maybe another day.
maybe another day she’ll be able to swallow the handfull of pills.
maybe another day she’ll cut deeper.
maybe another day she’ll tie the rope to her ceiling fan and slip her head through.
maybe another day she’ll be able to fly off that bridge down the road.
not today, but some day.

you may call this crazy.
but she just calls this Tuesday.