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As She Slept

(by Rachel Scarlett) 'She loves her mama's lemonade,
Hates the sounds that goodbyes make.
She prays one day she'll find someone to need her.
She swears that there's no difference,
Between the lies and complements.
It's all the same if everybody leaves her.'

I ran my fingers along her scars as she slept. They were thin and barely raised, but still there. She told me they were old, but I knew the difference between year old scars and month old scars. She unknowingly fell into her old habits when she used to cut.

She started wearing long sleeved shirts again - something she hadn’t done since a few months after we started dating, almost four years ago. She constantly tugged at the fabric by her wrists whenever they inched up even a fraction an inch.

'And every magazine tells her she's not good enough,
The pictures that she sees make her cry.
And she would change everything, everything just ask her.
Caught in the in between of beautiful disaster,
And she needs someone to take her home.'

I guess she assumed I didn’t notice. Like a said she’d stopped four years ago. It may have been soon after I came into the picture but I noticed everything with her. She was my world, my life.

She’d starting doing it to cope with her life. Her parents were divorcing, her boyfriend had broken up with her for her best friend, and her brother died.

'She's giving boys what they want, tries to act so nonchalant,
Afraid they'll see that she's lost her direction.
She never stays the same for long,
Assuming that she'll get it wrong.
Perfect only in her imperfection.'

Why she kept doing it…I’ll never really know. She said it was addictive. I believe her but I’m not totally convinced that was why she didn’t stop. She was a pretty strong-willed person. If she’d wanted to stop, she would have.

I’ve asked a few times, but she’d close up and quickly change the topic. She wasn’t the easiest person to talk to, not then not now. Her anxiety made it hard for her to properly discuss a serious topic without panicking. It never bothered me, but I sensed it did her.

She stirred in her sleep, jerking her arms to her body. I sighed and got out of bed, walking to the living room. I searched for the remote, giving up after a minute and plopped down on the couch. I fall asleep there, waking to a note from her saying she’s gone to work. And so I cried.

'She's not a drama queen,
She doesn't want to feel this way, only seventeen but tired
She would change everything for happy ever after.
Caught in the in between of beautiful disaster,
But she just needs someone to take her home.'

I ran my fingers along her scars, on her legs this time. They are caked with fresh blood. She opened up old scars. There’s more of them now, everywhere. On her legs, arms, shoulders, even her back. Every available inch of skin covered in scars.

She’s pulled away from me. I’m unable to touch her. I want to take her in my arms and hug her, kiss her. Perhaps she’s scared I’ll find them, though I already have. Perhaps she doesn’t love me and can’t bring herself to leave. Her eyes are dull and lifeless, skin pale and bruised.

I want to ask her again, yell at her, scream, “Why?!?”. But I don’t, fear of it pushing her father away stopping me. It’s summer now and the long sleeved shirts no longer make sense. “I have thin blood,” she says, forcing a smile to her once joyful face.

'Cause she's just the way she is, but no ones told her that's okay.
And she would change everything, everything just ask her.
Caught in the in between of beautiful disaster.'

She’s getting more obvious and she knows it. She’s talking less, doesn’t make eye contact. She’s going through razors faster then one can imagine. She’s dead on the inside and barely living on the out.

A month later now and she’s getting thinner. Just skin and bones. She must know I know by now. I mean, I'm a ditz, but I'm not completely oblivious. She’s sleeping on the couch or in the lounge chair. I don’t think she can stand the sight of me. She’s pulled completely into herself. And so I cried.

I ran my fingers along her scars, where it doesn’t matter. Her body was cold and tinted blue. She's thinner then she ever was probably just over ninety pounds. That wouldn't be so bad if she wasn't as tall as she was.

I knew it was only a matter of time before it came to this. I knew, but it still killed me. I came home and found her on our bed, bathed in blood, still holding the razor that ended her life, with a note.

It read: You weren’t enough for me.

And so I cried.

'And she would change everything for happy ever after.
Caught in the in between of beautiful disaster,
But she just needs someone to take her home
And just needs someone to take her home.'
Just reading the newspaper!
[HOT VIDEO] Just reading the newspaper!

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Upload Date: 31/12/1969

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