Scars

One cigarette at a time. Smoke lingers on my skin. Breathe in, and breathe out. That's what we were taught. Pain fades with time. Nausea sets in.

Somehow I can't handle. The slits on my wrists show everything.

It shows that I'm weak. That I can't handle a simple broken heart.

Even though, time and time again, I've felt this way before.

Love always got the best of me.