I watched as the scars claimed her skin. My Angel was like a ragdoll. The stitches patches her skin together but still her own hands would break it. She did it to herself, my Angel ripped herself apart. She would beckon the pain, and relish in its company. Her eyes were dead pits of sorrow and the angst was mixed my pain. Down in her collection were scissors and razors and eaach was rusted with dry blood. My Angel cried everynight as she sliced from vein to vein. "Just Let me Die" she whispered with a broken voice. Her eyes betrayed her by spilling her tears. The shocking thing was that her tears were clear and not red. Half as much as i expected. She played noughts and crosses on her thighs with the biggest grid you've ever seen. On her cheeks are tally's of the days as they pass. She's watching her wrists fall apart with beaten eyes. My Angel, the Ragdoll, cannot wait until she dies. |
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