I can't write today
Not about anything important anyway
Nothing is processing
What the prof is saying
Isn't making sense
I feel like I'm seeing
But not really seeing
Court coming closer
Has me on edge
And not paying attention
I've already lied
My foster mom wants me to tell the truth
But I can't
Not anymore
I don't want to talk about it anymore
Not about my little friend
Not about the blade
Not about the blood
The scars
Or the stitches
It's my body
I should be able to do what I want to it
It's my body
It's my blade
It's my scars
And it's my stitches
And I don't care if it leaves scars
"Well what happens when you have a husband? How will you explain that to them?"
Everyone fucking asks
I don't fucking know
I just don't fucking know
"What happens when you have kids?"
I don't know
I'll move to Seattle
It's like the perfect city for cutters
Long sleeves everywhere
No one would guess
No one would know
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