My thighs are bleeding, and I am proud 

I’m proud of myself for coping 

I know I shouldn’t be but I am 

I’m a disgusting person.

He was right for leaving 

His replacement was right about everything too 

Girls like me can’t find love, what was I thinking?

How dare I fool myself into having hope 

My chest, and stomach, and thighs might hurt 

But at least my throat doesn’t 

At least I avoided the one thing god knows I wanted to do more than anything 

At least my food is in my stomach, and my tears in my eyes instead of being mixed together on my bathtub floor 

Now it’s just my blood

And that will heal 

Will it heal? Will it ever? 

Or does that cut go deeper than the surface after all