by Tessa Carvill
Pathetic, little bitch with eyes full of tears,
I've wished this to happen for so many years,
Your hands they are bound by your straight bleeding line,
Which object is it that you have used this time?
The knife, the blade, the glass, the pin,
Each one sinking deeper within,
You soul, your heart, your body and mind,
Can you honestly tell me now that you’re fine?
When you realize that rope round your wrists isn’t string,
It’s tied by the bleeding wounds you keep inflicting,
And when I look in your eyes and think who you use to be,
I then smash that mirror, because in the end you are me….