She is addicted
And they don't know.
Rogue,
She's untouchable, but she's doing fine
She can never know true love,
But she's fine
She's strong. She can handle it.
They never notice why they always run short of paracetamol.
She is addicted
And they don't know.
She looks in the mirror,
Smiles and says she's fine.
It looks real.
Of course they never notice the raw pink lines on her arms.
The long sleeves aren't just for their safety.
She looks in the mirror. Twice in one day. Oh how vain.
She see's herself. Really see's herself.
She is breaking.
Slowly and painfully.
She lets out a sob, a sob that makes her bones ache.
A sob, from her very core.
Her arms beg for the relief of the silver blade,
And who is she to deny herself that?
Afterwards she'll take 20 paracetamol.
Not enough to kill her, but just to make it stop.
She is addicted, and she is breaking
But its fine because they don't know.