they always told her it wasn't safe,it wasn't right.
they begged for her to stop,
she always whispered she did.
but, every night, her crimson blood
still mixes with her silvery tears,
reflected in the sharp blade.

now she's getting weaker,
they don't know why,
they beg her to tell them,
she always gives no reply.

now she knows she's hurting,
she wants to stop so much,
she tries and tries,
failing more each time.

and now her sister,
sensing her pain,
walks into her room,
seeing her in pain,
is miore then she can bear.
'why did you never tell me?'
she asks, weeping.

and now she's crying,
left to clutch the bloody knife,
knowing she's caused someone
pain.
she whispers 'i'm sorry',
as as she floats away.
'i tried to stop....i tried every day...

she's sitting in an office now,
waiting to see you.
maybe if she had come to you before,
she would not have hurt you so.

she whispers these words,
wanting me to write,
saying this is how she
wants to explain,
what she did every night.