I look up to the mirror
The mirror on the bathroom’s wall
I’m not asking who’s the fairest among us all
Touching every details, I can feel it
Only searching for the scars
I found them on my wrists
They’re also between them thighs
Hide and seek behind the fabric
The scars over the blade
Who will still think I am beautiful
Just the way I am, perhaps
Not even the mirror would
Tears running both of my cheeks
Do the scars make me like a warrior
Because I still am a loser
I decide to take the blade once for the last time
If it’s not enough let me have another ones
A strong arm locked my blade, bleeding itself
Embracing me tight behind
Deep soft voice murmuring around my left ear
“Please, don’t. I love you.”


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