Manic Depressives have more fun
The razor was ice cold as he touched it to the pale skin of his wrist. He could feel the rapid beating of his pulse underneath the blade and he gave a sick, twisted smile as he made the cut, nice and smooth. Small bubbles of dark crimson came up and scarlet liquid poured down over his skin and down onto the tiled floor of the bathroom. His icy blue eyes held a crazy glint as he watched the red fountain gush. He began to feel lightheaded and grabbed a rag, holding it to the cut to stop the bleeding. After pressing it down for a few moments, he pulled the stained red cloth away from the wound. The cut had closed and was now embedded across his wrist-he knew it would scar, but it just added to the many scars that already scattered about his arms and wrists. He looked down to the dark puddle that resided among the bathroom floor and a wave of depression hit him. Hollowness came over him like a tide and pulled him out into the sea of manic depression. The need to die overcame him and he closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the endless noise of the voices with sounds of explosions. The noise subsided for a while and he pulled his black-red cloak on before walking out into the living room. He knew cutting was a serious problem. He didn't care. It was a simple release from the pain of heartbreak and rejection. Bad thing was that when he was done, all the grief and pain came back ten times stronger and he would cut again. One of these days, he thought, I'll end it all. That would be the day when he would finally leave this goddamn earth and be forever relieved from the endless torture. There was only one person to blame for his cutting. Only one. The person that had rejected him, laughed at him, scorned him, and then walked away. He knew. Oh, he knew. He knew that his love wasn't gay, like him. He knew the red-head he loved so dearly had a girlfriend. But he couldn't stop himself. And so he had tried. He had tried to win him over. Tried to make him see he could be happy with him. But alas, his attempts were futile, and the man he was infatuated with had walked away, leaving him with an utterly shattered heart and pain-filled thoughts of what could have been. As he looked up at the cracked ceiling of his one-bedroom apartment, it took every ounce of pride he contained within himself not to break down and cry. Slowly, he went back to the bathroom.
As he slashed his wrist again, he wept.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Where-There's-A-Love-There's-A-Heartbreak~~~~~~~~~~~~~