A woman was on her bed, knees curled up to her chest, tears streaming down her beautiful, rosy white cheeks. She watches the blood run down her arms, pooling at the crease in her elbow. The razor blade she used lays abandoned on the green comforter until she needs it again. More than likely it will only be a few minutes until she painfully picks it up. She wishes she was stronger than this. She wishes she didn't have the need to feel her skin spilt neatly open, and stare at the little beads of blood slowly rise to the surface until they all connect to become a stream escaping from her body. A sob escapes her throat and as if it releases something inside, she is moaning in pain. Not the physical kind. No, that she can handle. It's the emotional rope of grief that grips her heart, her soul, squeezing so tight she feels like she can never feel happy again. The tears are streaming down, falling off her chin to mix with the blood. Even the cool feel of the metal against her arm does nothing for her now. It does not give her the same satisfaction it did before. The adrenalin, the rush, the excitement is no longer available to her. This scares her. If the only thing that made her feel alive before, doesn't make her feel a thing, what does that mean? Does that mean she finally became an empty shell? The very thing she was scared of before she started cutting, the reason she had started cutting? What happens now? Will she ever get better, will the darkness taking over her soul ever leave? She does not know, but another loud moan-sob tears through her throat and her shoulders shake with the pain of the thought of her never escaping the madness. It is all consuming, and she feels like she has nothing to live for. She hates herself, she grips her hair in desperation and screams, begging someone to come save her from herself. But she knows it is futile. No one ever comes, no one hears her pleas, no one would be willing to save her if they did. She knows this. She knows that tomorrow, she will get up, get dressed, put on a smile to trick the world into believing she is happy. Make them believe she isn't some self loathing woman that wouldn't blink twice if given the choice to die. She wouldn't save herself, there wouldn't be any begging for her life if a masked man came up and held a gun to her head. She often fantasizes about that scenario in her head through out the day. It wont ever happen, and she knows this. Life wouldn't be that kind to her.
