What's There To Say? Poem by Shawna Creech

She paints a pretty picture,
But her story has a twist.
Her paint brush is a razor,
And her canvas is her wrist.

She never knows when she wakes up,
If all will be the same.
Or if she'll be in her dark place,
Again to feel the pain.

She opens up the hurt alone;
She opens up her veins.
And nobody will ever know,
That she can't break the chains.

Because when anybody asks,
She claims that she's okay.
It's an empty truth at best,
It's what she's suppose to say.