What hurts more,
lying or being lied to?
I don't even no anymore,
and that hurts the most.
Because not knowing is like not seeing,
like being locked in a dark room and wondering what's happening on the outside.
How do I get out?
One silver edge,
that's my key.
Not knowing hurts the most.
Not knowing how or what,
not knowing why this is happening
hurts more than the swift strokes of a silver edge.
Silver makes red, which is dabbed by white,
and twenty red lines appear.
Blankly staring at what I've done,
I'm stuck in a moment that I wish would end.
As the lines become scars, all that's there is shame.
And that's the only thing that hurts more than not knowing.
Shame.
The shame in the lines, the shame in my eyes, the shame on my face as my mother cries.
I know now I can't go back.
Twenty red lines become twenty white lines, but they'll always be red to me.