His words speak volumes

They tell a story

A long, heartfelt story

That may never be told aloud

He washed away the pain

With a bright, silver blade

His skin became a canvas

Never to see the light of day

His brush was a blade

His skin is a canvas

A brilliant painting

Caresses his wrists

Raised flesh is hidden

Beneath long sleeves

He wonders if

If, if, if

Did the promises she made

Mean anything to her

Or was it all a part

Of some twisted game

Each promise that she broke

Is a line upon his skin

Hidden from the sun

Beneath long sleeves

His cuts are neat and tidy

Like ducklings in a line

Following the first

With no end in sight

The broken promises she made

Haunt his dreams night and day

Why won’t they leave him alone

Hasn’t he already paid the price?