Question

I carry my burden, my shame, my hate, all across my wrist,
I’ve never let anyone see me like this.
If pain could kill, I would be dead,
Words can never hurt me, only ones unsaid.

Every night my worth, my strength, my pain, becomes less,
I wear a black veil and dress.
These scars and cuts, the marks of the devil,
They bleed, scab, peel, and fall, and I know my mind is ill.