Just a cut,
Just a scratch.
"What's that Mark?"
"It was the cat."
Carlos hissed at the pain as he finished dragging a clean cut across his bare wrist, as it seeped with blood.
Just an excuse,
Just a lie.
"Why the brackets?"
"Just fashion, why?"
The second one seeped more blood than the first as it has been sliced straight across his vein, making him slightly feint.
Just a tear,
Just a scream.
"Why are you crying?"
"It was just a bad dream."
Tears started to roll down Carlos' cheeks as the blood started to drip down onto the floor. Small sobs escaped his lips.
But its not just a cut,
Its not just a lie.
Its always just one more,
Until you die.
Carlos stopped. He had done enough. He forcefully wiped the tears away from his face as he opened the bathroom cupboard, which was filled with first aid supplies. He quickly grabbed the disinfectant wipes and the bandages to stop the bleeding quicker. He pressed the disinfectant onto his wrist, before hissing in pain. It stung.
He did it on each and every cut, before his face was covered in more tears than his wrist was in blood.
'Its true. I am weak. I cry at a little disinfectant.' He thought, his mind racing with other terrible brainstorms.
He quickly bandaged his arm up, before pulling his jumper sleeve back down so it covered it all away.
He began to recite his excuses.
'It was just the cat.'
People would believe it.
'I'm cold.'
They would think it.
'Just for fashion.'
They would know it.
But they'd be wrong, wouldn't they?