Don't Cry, Honey.

A young girl sits in her room, on her bed, in the dark. Black sheets are pulled up to her ankles. Bright lights shine slightly past the curtain’s edges. She’s crying. Crying for what could have been but may never be, crying for lost dreams, crying for the fights that make you shake, crying for the blood on her wrist. Now she’s singing, sad songs about love and hate and everything in between. Her voice is shaky and keeps cracking, and she laughs at how pathetic she really is under sobs. She can’t be too loud though, because he’ll hear.