So Many Scars

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A dark red stream

trickles down her arm.

The cut stings.

Well, that's part of self-harm.

The knife's blade glints,

in the moonlight.

Her hand shakes,

she tries to fight.

There are so many scars,

too many to count.

Her body begins to shake with fear.

Of happiness? There is no amount.

The knife lowers itself once again.

To slice open her bare skin.

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