A/N- This will be quite freaky, but I'm proud of it.
Also, If you self harm, please remember this comes with a trigger warning- please don't read this if it might trigger any self loathing or suicidal feelings!
By the way, this is free verse (poetry with no rhyme, rhythm, pattern etc...)
Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter... obviously...
...
...
The blood ran off the edge of the blade like my emotions ran from my being.
I hate myself.
I hate him.
I hate what he does to me.
Yet I let him do it.
And why?
Because I love him.
I love the man who tortures my soul.
He can't love me.
I'd do anything.
Anything.
But he won't ever care for me.
Lord Voldemort.
And I watch the blood fall,
Pour from my arms.
I slash at them,
Again, and again, AND AGAIN!
The red river runs deep,
Deep into the white bed sheets,
Staining them!
Making them beautiful!
Making them clean.
My blood is pure.
I hate to waste it.
I hate to ruin it.
But my body will make more blood,
And now everything around me can have my blood too!
My pure, perfect blood.
Perfect?
The blood may be, but not me.
I cause pain.
I can't help it,
It just happens.
People say I'm Bipolar,
Schizophrenic,
A freak.
That's all I am.
A freak.
Narcissa says I'm lovely,
Beautiful,
Funny,
Clever.
But what does she know?
She may know me better than them,
But she's one voice,
Amongst many.
I bleed to know I'm alive,
I kill to know I'm strong,
I cry to know I feel,
I love, because I'm wrong.
Wrong,
In his eyes,
He thinks I am strong,
But love makes me weak.
Wrong,
in their eyes,
Wherever I go, they stare.
I hear them laughing behind my back,
I know they're talking about how they loathe me.
Bellatrix Lestrange.
Freak.
Murderer.
Bitch.
Sometimes I wish they understood.
Everything.
But they can't.
Nobody can.
Nobody will.
The one person I could trust with my life left me,
Abandoned my family,
Married a muggle born.
Oh, Andromeda!
If you could see me now!
What I've become!
You would hurt too.
Sometimes I realise you chose best.
It makes me angry.
Sad.
Jealous?
I can tell Narcissa knows.
She wishes she was like you, sister.
But I thought I was right.
All along.
So I'll keep believing I was right,
Even though I doubt my beliefs.
I'll fight to be the best,
His highest lieutenant,
His favourite.
And as my thoughts become blurry and muddled,
So do the cuts on my arms,
My stomach,
My legs.
Crisscrossed, and zigzagged, and swirling, and straight,
Spreading across me,
The blood consuming me,
Where is the skin to cut?
I can't see beneath the sea!
The blood could drown me!
It could seep through my skin and infect me!
Suddenly my pure blood doesn't seem so holy.
It is evil, like me.
It is all-powerful, like him.
It is deep, like the ice I fall through everyday.
His ice,
Like on a lake.
He traps me within his coldness.
Alone?
Isolated?
The blood is alone, as well.
Nothing can match it's beauty.
The sheets of the double bed never looked better.
As a child, I'd often wondered who would care if I cut.
Andromeda?
Narcissa, maybe?
As an adult, I don't need to wonder.
The only person to notice would be Rodolphus.
He wouldn't care.
He treats me like dirt.
Dirt off the bottom of a shoe,
Trodden on,
Destroyed,
Mutilated,
Until my mind will be a jumble of emotions,
A confused mess,
And my body will be crushed.
The pain is unbearable.
Maybe I deserve it?
I caused others pain,
But they were worth it...
Weren't they?
The Dark Lord believed so.
He is ALWAYS right.
Some muggles speak of a God.
My master is my God.
I shall go to heaven, and be with him,
Or I shall go to hell, and lie cold on his floor.
Either way, I would be happy to have served him.
Like my blood served me.
It served me well.
But it's destiny was not for my body.
It was born to cry.
People are often born to cry,
It's a game of chance-
Which family will a soul go to?
A loving one?
A hateful one?
A pureblood one?
A muggle one?
In my mind I've questioned our rights,
To destroy the lives of people who didn't choose to be born as they are,
But questioning the Dark Lord must be punished.
People like the traitor Severus must be punished,
For I am sure he's not one of us!
And now I must punish myself.
The cold blade pressed to my skin,
The scraping of pulling it around,
Twisting,
Slicing,
Bleeding.
Until a word,
A word which describes my life,
Just one word,
Is carved into my flesh-
"Why?"
...
...
A/N- Reviews, please! Or else Lord Voldemort will feed me to Nagini!