For me,
Please,
Stop cutting.
I said.
A broken record.
Only now,
As she lays in the grave,
Six feet under.
I wonder
if things would have changed,
If I just once asked her to
Stop cutting,
Please,
For you.
Would it have made a difference, though?
The reason to cut or not remains
the same, either way.
Nothing can change that here
they now lay,
Serene and calm,
No frown etched into their face.
The only proof
she was ever alive,
the scars she gained
trying to escape
her life.
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