Little black words line up and down my arms, screaming at me to read them. But I have, I wrote them. Meaningless words with such sting they send tears down my face, screams that lodge themselves in my throat; choking me.

Fat. Ugly. Bitch. Useless.

Written in black permanent marker. Contrasting against my porcelain skin. I scratch at my arm, pulling at the skin, trying to tear away all fat from my body. All the while words screaming and floating past my vision.

Stupid. Waste of space. Unloved. Whore.

I throw my head back and scream, no one's home, they can't hear me. Over and over I chant out the words, a long never ending curse; Damning me to a life of Hell. Thorns prick at my skin as it crawls over me trying to hold onto me tight. Tough Love. These razor blades are the closest thing I have to a teddy bear to hold at night.

Who would want to hold me, for all they know, my brand of hideous is contagious.

I come home at night, so tired of having to smile all the fucking time! You told me to shut up, you don't want to hear about my attention seeking problems. All I wanted was for some one to listen. I needed my best friend, shame she was dead. You like to keep me on a chain, agreeing with everything you say, no mind of my own. You don't like me, you just like how easily I bend to your will.

But I can't blame you, I'm that easy to use, just wanting some one to love. Too bad I'll never be good enough.

I just wanted some one to hold me and tell me everything's alright. That you think I'm amazing, that you love me. Is it so wrong to just want some one to actually want me. But I guess that's what the words are for. To remind me why I can't have those things. The only person who will tell the truth is that thick black pen.

I used to live in a fairytale world, fairies hold your hand and guide you through life, little wooden boys come to life. But that never happens. Ginger bread houses crumble under your cynical touch, water burns in your presence. A heart the colour of blood sewn into my hollow chest, in an attempt to make me seem normal.

I spent years watching over you, keeping you safe. Making sure you always had someone to lean on, a shoulder to cry on.

You threw me away, like I was a disposable razor blade, rusted and lost it's edge. But when they cut, they hurt the most.

Maybe it wasn't my fault. Maybe it was yours.

But now I'm broken and nothing can fix my shattered bones, crumbled into a fine dust and snorted into your nose like poison.

I hope it kills you more then death did.

A/N-

I tried. Writing block just doesn't want to go away. Short and simple. Came from the fact I have taken to writing on my arms in black marker. So it didn't work, but I'm going to keep trying.