For me, 

Please,

Stop cutting.

I said.

A broken record.

 

Only now,

As she lays in the grave,

Six feet under.

I wonder

if things would have changed,

If I just once asked her to

Stop cutting,

Please,

For you. 

 

Would it have made a difference, though?

The reason to cut or not remains 

the same, either way.

Nothing can change that here

they now lay,

Serene and calm,

No frown etched into their face.

 

The only proof 

she was ever alive,

the scars she gained

trying to escape 

her life.