• The girl is standing,
    With blood on her wrists.
    What made her do it?
    No one knows.
    But she is outside.
    Outside of the crowd.
    The crowd is staring,
    The girl is crying.
    She is an outsider.

    Why?
    Why did she do it?
    Why do people hate her for it?
    The girl,
    With blood on her wrists
    Is just a girl.

    She is a human,
    But people seem to forget
    What a human really is.
    But it does not matter,
    If her wrists are clean
    Or if they're bloodied,
    She is still human.

    Yes, we think it's wrong.
    To what people like her do.
    We think it's wrong
    That people cut themselves
    To feel better.
    To see the pain right in front of them,
    To have the satisfaction of red dripping.
    But don't forget
    They are still human.

    Someone just walked out of the crowd.
    They went up to the girl.
    They smiled.
    The girl looked up at them.
    They smiled and took her arms,
    Her bloodied wrists,
    And washed them clean.
    Then, through the scars,
    Through the pain and red,
    They wrote something.

    Something that made the crowd stop
    Made them stare in wonder.
    Something that made the girl stare too.
    Something that told the girl,
    We are aware,
    You are not alone,
    We are here.

    And that is...
    "Love."