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1000 white lines sat,
There on her arms.
She covered them up,
So no one would stare.
 
She wore her long sleeves, 
Everyday of the week.
Hoping no one would notice,
Everyone just thought she was cold.
 
She seemed so happy,
Just on the outside.
But deep down inside,
No one knew just how much she was hurting.
 
She would keep to herself,
So happy and smiley.
Not one thing could be wrong.
That's what they all thought.
 
When she got home,
She would go to her room.
With her door locked,
She sat down on her bed.
 
She rolled up her sleeves,
And her arms started to scream.
The names that they spoke, 
Made her eyes spring with tears,
And her nose really runny.
 
She pulled out her knife,
From the top drawer of her dresser.
And glided it carefully,
Through the skin on her arms.
 
The blood prickled up,
So warm and so red.
Maybe, she thought, she'd be better off dead.
 
So she took the used blade that she had in her hand,  
And made an incision,
As deep as could be.
 
She lost blood fast,
As her time ran short. 
And with her last breath,
She wrote on her wall,
with bloodied up fingers.
 
'I'm sorry for this.'
The words boldly projected.
 
Hours went by,
And her mom called her for dinner.
When no response came,
And no footsteps were heard,
Her mom became curious,
Just like she should.
 
She stepped up the stairs,
And opened the door to her daughter's room.
She ran horrified over to her daughter's side,
As she lay still,
The light gone from her eyes.
 
Her mother's eyes glistened with tears,
As she saw the clear message.
"Why?!" she cried out.
 
She then ran for the phone, 
And called 911.
But it was too late.
 
1000 white lines,
Now glitter her arms,
As she lays in her casket.
She's now with the stars.
 
Everyone she's known is completely heartbroken.
Just knowing she's gone.
It's all because of those thousand white lines...
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