Who Is She?  (Who are you competition)

I am razor blades
slid neatly across open forearms.
Eyes cold and heart broken
leaning precariously on the
edge of sanity.
Haunted voices screaming
in harmony with each other.
An open heart,
beaten over and over;
submissive.
A scarred body
holding secrets deep
in each imperfection.
Pen held just right
creating the illusion
of flawlessness.
Who is this disturbed person?
She is hurt,
but she still loves.
She is senseless,
yet she feels so much.
Passionate some may call it.
She is the mind's eye.
Seeing what you cannot;
hearing what you so desperately wish to.