Parchment

She cuts.
She slices deeply into her
Flesh.

Her young body has become
Parchment for her pain.

Her scarlet life's stream has become
Ink for her wordless tale.

She sits in her florescent
Prison of expression
And she cuts.

Tomorrow
In the halls of learning
Her tormentors will laugh.

So, she will race home
To her florescent prison
And she will cut.