A small metal plate,
planting roses amongst my skin.
Thighs, wrist,
stomach and hips.
I don't know my fate,
and I know I am not to make amends.

This world isn't for me,
just like many emotions,
that I will never feel.
It's hard to see,
I forgot another meal.

I draw my pain,
beauty in arts they say,
but it's me going insane.
Sanity looses it's grip,
"it's just my cat, scratched my hip."

Blades grow deeper,
and life,
I wish I never met her.