She took her time to fashion the weapons of her own destruction
With her own hands.
She’d been thinking of ending things
She knew no other way.
She cried.
The tears she wept were selfish
She wept for the person she wished she should be
But never was.
She was collapsing in on herself
A steady decline
One event after another.
She tried not to ask for help
Lest people pity her
Her hands were not clean
Not clean at all.
She never should have taken up arms
Never should have learned how to wield a knife
Because now she just knew how to hurt herself better.


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