Blood matters, doesn't it?
You sit there every day, sneering at me, because of blood.
Sometimes at night, I cry because of blood.
Because it hurts.
Sometimes I cut myself, with a sharp blade, just to see blood.
Just to deal with the pain.
The pain of it all.
Of everything.
You just sit there, still.
Smirking, like you know of my pain.
Smirking, like you know that I watch the red drops of blood, streaming down my arm.
And like you know that I enjoy it, I enjoy cutting, self harm.
But, your right, I do like it.
Too much.
I should stop.
But I can't seem to…..
I wish you knew, that I need help, so I wont cut too deep, and die.
I wish you knew, but you don't….
You wouldn't care, anyway, would you?
No, you wouldn't, you would laugh, and smirk.
So now I'm cutting, and I cant seem to stop.
And blood does matter…
I'm losing too much…
The cut in my arm is too deep.
Now, I'm finally going to die.
Good.
But then you come in, and you see the blood, and you know its too late. But you take the knife and you stick it in your arm too.
No, I whisper.
But you cut too deep, too. So now we both will die.
You shush me, say it will be Ok,
But it wont.
And soon we are both gone, and the blood still slowly seeps out…
Turns out blood does matter,
It matters too much.
If anyone looked they would see you and me.
You, Draco Malfoy.
And me, Hermione Granger.
And now we're both dead.