Oh, she's sweet but a psycho

A little bit psycho

At night she's screamin', "I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind"

Oh, she's hot but a psycho

So left but she's right though

At night she's screamin', "I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind"

Grab a cop gun kinda crazy

She's poison but tasty, yeah, people say, "Run, don't walk away"

'Cause she's sweet but a psycho

A little bit psycho

At night she screamin', "I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind"

By: Ava Max

The arms that held her up shook against the bathroom sink as she leaned her full weight on it. It wasn't hard, she didn't weigh much anymore, the little muscle she had was gone from stress and refusing to eat.

Her jaw was clenched, sweat was pouring down her forehead in buckets. There was a razor blade on the edge of the sink near the fingertips of her dominant hand.

She refused to look at it— instead she continued to take in her appearance.

Her cheeks used to be round and flush with life, now her face was all angles and high prominent cheekbones. Her soft pink lips were worried red.

Her skin was pale, and you could see every vein in her forearms. Dark circles engulfed her once lively eyes making her look exhausted beyond repair.

The bathroom door was closed and locked. No one was home.

Her mother, father, and older brother were each attending to their own personal matters, that being work or otherwise.

'Go, go call them . . . call someone... tell them how you feel, you need someone.'

"That won't do anything." She grunted to herself blinking past the tears and reaching to grip the blade without breaking contact with herself in the mirror.

Eventually, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe past the stuffiness of her clogged nose. When she opened them a person she hasn't seen in over a year stood behind her, eye sockets sunken looking concerned.

She gasped.

"What happened to you?"

"No!" She cried dropping the razor blade and staring at the reflection. She whipped around and he was still there. She became more hysterical.

"You need to calm down."

"No, no, no! Not again. Please not again." She wailed crouching down to the floor and putting her hands over her ears as tears fell from her eyes. The voices only became louder.

The room grew cold and despite her sweat; goosebumps broke out all over her arms and legs.

The figure crouched down as well a grimace on his face. She stared at him in pure panic. "Listen to m-"

She scooted away on her butt as far as she could until her back hit the wall underneath the sink, she pressed her hands harder against her ears and closed her eyes until it gave her a headache from squeezing.

"Your not real, your not real. I'll count to three and-"

"Please, I just want to help."

"I'LL COUNT TO THREE, OPEN MY EYES AND YOU'LL BE GONE. ALL OF YOU WILL BE GONE, BECAUSE THIS ISN'T REAL, ALL OF YOU AREN'T REAL BECAUSE YOU'RE DEAD, YOU DIED. THIS IS ALL IN MY HEAD. THIS IS ALL IN MY HEAD."

It was silent. The room spun and her chest hurt from hyperventilating. Minutes passed, and slowly, slowly... she peeked.

He sat in front of her— lips pursed staring back her. His hair messy; his eyes tired.

She let loose a shuttering breath. "You... you're still here."

He was silent for a minute, but he nodded his head. "Yeah.

She swallowed. "Oh."