Red Stripes

When my hands feel restless, they find their place on my skin,

On my arm that's abnormally thin.

My nails glide smoothly from side to side,

Creating scratch marks that I cannot hide.

Each mark is a scream I fail to voice,

A silent war, not by choice.

But once the moonlight starts to glow,

My pale skin with red stripes show.

And it keeps me awake at night,

For the marks only burn once I'm alright.