I carved your name into my wrist, a testiment to the pain I have suffered at your hands, by your tonuge. You never noticed the pain I sought to hide, while others could see directly through. How sad on your part. I look in the mirror, and see what you’ve said. A fat girl with an ugly face, and I have the urge to gouge my eyes out, claw my face off, starve myself to the point of skin and bone.

I look at the scars I have, before and after you. The swastika at the base of my thumb, the cross on my ankle…and your name upon my wrist. You scoffed at the scars on my arms, on my legs. Said I had missed my target. I don’t want to die…most of the time. Really. It just hurts, and my heart can’t take it. I don’t like to cry, it makes you laugh and kills me inside.

Impales my heart upon my ribs, makes my mind shy away. You laughed when I told you about him, and then grew angry when I didn’t want to be touched. Can you blame me? You laugh and say I’m not worth the time. I know. Just leave my heart on the floor.

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