The mess she has made.

The pain displayed across her arms is how she sees the world in her eyes. Stained and scratched with  mistakes, like looking into a broken mirror. But all she sees is a tainted soul always consumed my saddened thoughts. A heart that carries draped cobwebs and stitches. Swollen eyes that seep with the coldest pain, unbearable and crippling. But you see, no one notices. Every tear she sheds, she sheds silently. Every cut she make is veiled. She is ashamed of what she does and hates the agony she feels when her eyes fixate on the mess she has made. On her own skin.