A/N: ... you don't deserve an authors note.

That's right, you've been bad minions. Only five reviews? This is a disgrace.

Now, shoo! I don't want to see your uncommitted faces until you want to review. Hmph.

PRIME TIME.

This is the dying,

I'm not even thinking anymore.

Why should I, when all my thoughts can drift to is her?

This has become automatic, systematic. I don't need to think, so I don't. Just cut, cut, cut, watch the bleeding. If blood had a song, it'd be my theme- a calm piano tune that lulled you into false security, then belted out the loudest notes possible for your eardrums to shatter, just like my heart did.

"Hi! Guess what?"

I miss her, I love her.

Too bad I have this funny little thing called pride.

You are the disease.

She infiltrates my every thought like clockwork, I miss her just as much, and I can't help but wonder weather she still thinks about me.

I bet she doesn't.

I bet nobody does, really.

But the pain is reassuring. It's.. It's calming, in a way.

"Me and Beck are dating now!"

Better than feeling nothing at all, right?

Besides, it's not like I had a chance. He's Beck, and I'm.. well, me. The biggest dork, the biggest loser. Ugly, lanky and nerdy.

I'm no lady magnet, but I know if she'd given me just one chance, I would have been able to make her happy.

And I smile like Ritalin,

My mind is so easily distracted.. I need to focus on the task at hand.

I push just the tip of the blade down until it punctures the skin, and I carve delicate, artistic strokes into the skin of my thigh.

I'd like to think it looks a bit like a heart.

"Isn't that great?"

A bleeding, messy, scraped up heart.

So I cut it in half.

The razor and me.

If I could, I'd turn it all back.

"Yeah, that's.. that's great. Good for you."

Right before I was going to pop the question, you know?

The blood pours like a waterfall and I can't help but to think that if she had just waited one day for me, maybe I'd have had a chance. Maybe I could have loved her the way he did, better than he did. Maybe my white skin would have actually been perfect white, instead of red-and-white striped.

No, of course not. What do I have to offer that Beck doesn't?

I'm glad that he has her.. yep. Glad. Because he's 400 times the man I'll ever be.

This is the falling,

I get up and grab a red handkerchief (used to be white, you know?) and I take it to the kitchen. Thank God, I'm home alone. I grab the lemon juice from the fridge and soak the handkerchief until it can't hold any more, then I rub some salt onto it. After that's done, I just press it to my leg and hiss in anger as the acid gets inside the cuts, burning me like lava.

I deserve it for being stupid.

You are underground.

I deserve it for never talking to her when I had the chance.

"Thanks, Rob."

I sigh and the handkerchief falls out of my hands.

This is the water,

Stupid Beck.

Stupid Cat.

Stupid me.

You are now drowning.