It is smooth.
No lumps, or bumps.
A dark shadow cast against the ceiling.
Beautiful,
Mysterious,
Secret.
But in the light it is different.
It tells of pain i cant express.
Every white stroke of the silver blade.
Every gleaming scar across my pale flesh.
Every dryed bead of blood on my skin.
I do not need to tell you how i feel.
I never needed to say what happened.
My hours of pain
Spent alone
Are recorded across my wrists.
You need not ask me
And my mouth need not open.
The guarded stare in my glassy eyes.,
The heavy chains round my lonely heart,
The snaking strokes across my arms...
These tell my secrets.
-Charlotte