Lines on the table,

made straight by

a razor.

A burning sensation,

a tightening of

the chest,

and the ability to

forget.

The powder makes her

shake,

tremble,

quake.

She can breathe,

for a moment,

before the perfect trip

meets its demise.

She suddenly remembers:

all her stupid mistakes,

all the wasted moments,

all the hurt inflicted,

and the loves lost.

The fall hurts so

bad;

it makes her hate

herself more.

She feels so sick,

in body and mind,

and her entire life

becomes clear in her

sight.

She's just being used,

and using in return.

Lines on her wrists,

made straight by

a razor.

A burning sensation,

a clench of

the heart,

and the inability to

forget.

The blood makes her

quiver,

shake,

cry.

She can't breathe

with all this pain

rushing through her

veins.

All she does is remember:

every stupid mistake,

all the wasted moments,

all the hurt inflicted,

all the loves lost.

The wounds hurt so

bad;

they make her hate

herself even more.

She feels so sick,

in body and mind.

And her entire heart

is breaking with perfection

in her sight.

But she's being cut,

and cutting in return.

Lines in her heart,

made straight like

a razor.

A burning sensation,

a tightening of

the chest,

and the inability to

forget.

The words make her

trip,

fall,

break.

She can't breathe

with all this agony

tripping through her

brain.

She can only remember:

all her stupid mistakes,

all the wasted moments,

all the hurt inflicted,

all the loves lost.

The utterances hurt so

bad;

they make her despise

myself to the end.

She feels so sick,

in body and mind.

And her entire world

shatters like glass

as she cries.

She's completely broken,

and breaking uncontrollably.