These Crimson Tears

She is just like you. She could be anyone. You're best friend, you're sister, the girl next door. But she has a secret. She's hurting, she's in pain. But unlike you she can't seem to let happiness and light extinguish the pain and darkness which weighs her heart down.
Unlike you, she doesn't go home and shake off every horrible little detail in her life. She has a silver secret. She has scars beneath the sweater she wears, caused by pain you have inflicted. Every word you throw ate her, effects her in a major way. Every night, after her cold hearted parents fall into a deep slumber.. No short of REM sleep she crawls out of bed, her heart heavy with pain and sadness. She opens the drawer to her nightstand and grabs a sharp, freezing, metal object and a roll of toilet paper.
She crawls back into bed, sitting Indian style, rolls up her sleeve on her left arm and digs the cold razor into her arm and drags it across her scarred, bruised skin. Blood and pain prickles her skin, endporhines and serotonin rushes to that part of her brain which has become marred with sickness. She bandages up her bleeding wrist, lays back down, closes her blue green eyes and finally falls asleep. She finally sleeps the sleep she has so longed to sleep. She finally feels a tiny bit of peace. For now.