Too much practice can break you

“Practice makes perfect…” she told herself as she tangled her legs between his. That’s what she was taught, the motto running through her head. She didn’t want to be this person; the one that falls into bed to push the pain away. “Practice makes perfect…” that’s what she told herself when she was crying in her bathtub, clutching at her chest, gasping for the air that never seemed to come. She didn’t want to be this weak minded person. “Practice makes perfect…” she said as she dragged the pointed blade across her skin. the motto beating tattoos against her skull. “practice makes perfect…” she said as she was engulfed into darkness. 

This poem is about: 
Me
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