The Cutter

So innocently we met,
a happen chance, coincidence.
On a Sunday like any other
our paths briefly met.
I sat down, family by my side
ordered, patiently waiting.
You, polite, kind
but strangely, distantly sad.
You arrive at my table,
cautious arms taking much care.
In a split moment exposing scars,
no one your age should ever bear.
Was it your family?
Broken, battered, dysfunctional.
Was it your boyfriend?
Lying, cheating, abusive.
Maybe just life?
Beating you down every time you finally decide to put the razors down.
We sit there, empty dinner plates aging.
You, so timidly, quietly waiting on the other hungry few in the room.
Should I say something?
...do something?
...give something?
We try to be overly nice
even leaving more than a fair tip for the effort.
...but we do nothing.
...say nothing.
..and honestly give nothing more.
We leave, exchange pleasant smiles.
We pay and simply move on.
You still there, quietly, waiting, patiently.
How I've prayed to have that moment back.
Just to offer a caring word or a simple, heart felt prayer.
I hope you somehow found happiness,
before the blades found your arms again.
I hope you found peace,
before you punished your young skin again.
I hope somehow you found the love you so desperately deserved...
...before someone finds that you're gone