i don't own him, some other clever people do. if i owned him he'd be dead already.
--------dark&stormy--------
It was a dark and stormy night.
(the winds really loud i hope theres a powercut or something)
Perfect.
(probably there won't be i need a smoke)
That's the way he felt. Dark and stormy.
(dammit i hate this being alone but i like it too this is weird i need a smoke)
The cigarette entered the mouth. Long puff, drew it out. Exhaled. Watched the grey smoke poison the air. Dark and stormy. Another puff. Exhaled. Nice and relaxing. But still he felt dark and stormy. Of course he did, a smoke wasn't gonna fix that. He knew what would, though. But fuck, he wasn't gonna give in that easy. Not yet anyway. The smoke was going down. Not much left. Screw it, he was done with it anyway. But might as well take the last puff. Better not waste it. Inhaled it. Yeah, that was nice. Nicotine was nice.
(but fuck i hate them when they act all concerned ooh ooh you smoke its bad for you dont do it but would they really care if i died today?)
Where does he put it out? Oh shit, where was he gonna put out the cigarette? Didn't have an ashtray. He looked down. Jesus, he'd let the ash fall to the floor. Hadn't even noticed. That was funny. Oh well, who cares? Stomped on the ashes, staining the carpet. No one would notice. Carpet was stained already, anyway. Oh, right, the cigarette. Nah, not gonna put it out on the bench. Didn't wanna get any shit for smoking. Put it out on the palm of his hand. Pushed it in hard. Fuck! Oh Jesus, that hurt! Good. He liked the pain. Looked at the mark. That one wasn't gonna scar.
(damn i wish it did i could do it again nah not worth it why am i even fucked over this shes not even worth it ha i never even cared about her so why am i feeling like this its because its topped off all the other shit ive been feeling its because now i dont have a girlfriend back to being a pathetic lonely shit yeah thats it its not her)
He stood up. Was he drunk? Yeah. Yeah he was pretty drunk. His head was spinning. Ow. Tossed the cigarette butt into the bin. Knew what he was gonna do. Probably he'd regret it in the morning, but right now didn't care. Didn't care at all, he wanted to. It would have to be when he was drunk that he went back to it. Of course. Sober him wouldn't have the guts. Fuckin pussy. Yeah, this would get him back on track, then he'd thank drunk him. Oh shit he was so drunk. He laughed. What a suprise he'd get when he woke up. Yeah, then it'd all float back to him in the familiar way during a hangover. He'd think shit-what-have-I-done. But then he'd get addicted again. Not good. Bad thing to do. Laughed again. He liked it, he knew he did. No matter how sensible and....fuck his head hurt. Yeah, he liked it.
(but what if they see the cuts aw they wouldn't notice they don't give a shit about me they pretend they do but i bet they dont especially not now they wouldnt care if they see they wont say anything)
Looked at the bathroom door. Should he use a razor blade? Nah, he was drunk. Better use a kitchen knife, a razor would frustrate him. Ah fuck, why was he thinking like this? He was drunk, he could do what he wanted. Stumbled back to the kitchen and opened the top drawer. Felt around for a knife. Oh yeah, this one was perfect. Big sharp kitchen knife. Looked like Michael Myer's knife. Halloween, good movie. Lots of blood.
(i didnt even love her and i dont love HER no i dont i dont i dont i do but it doesnt matter if i do she doesnt care)
Blood.
(i hope she sees the cut yeah then shell know she wont have a clue why though)
He was getting that craving. Not like the kind of craving you get for smokes. It was that excited, anticpating feeling. Only stronger than he could remember. Must be because he hadn't done it for...fuck, how many years?
(its not an attention cry no not an attention cry not a cry for attention i dont want her to know anyway i just want her to care maybe she does no i bet she doesnt care not at all)
The knife was shimmering. His mouth watered. Fuck, you'd think he was starving and looking at a bucket of KFC. 'Spose he could drink it. He'd done that a few times. It had added to the excitment buthe thought it was pretty fucked up. Shut up now, brain, let's get on with this.
(maybe i should just kill myself no not worth it i wont do that no wont do that tonight)
He looked around. Where was he gonna do it? He wanted to make it special. It was like the first sip of a good beer, the first time you fucked a girlfriend. This was the first time he'd done this for awhile and hell, he was gonna enjoy it. He'd go for the bathroom. He could clean up the blood that way.
(dont want their attention yes i do no i dont shut up dont want their attention now didnt want anyones back then yeah thats right it just made everything worse they were angry they didnt care they were angry at me but i didn't do anything wrong fuck no i didnt theyll think i am fuck i know what they think about me)
So he went in and shut the door and locked it. Put down the toilet lid, sat down. Put his left hand in front of him, spread out his fingers. Took the first cut slowly, savouring the pain. A subtle pain, not that bad. Kinda dissappointing. The flesh cut easily, which was good. Ahhh. Dammit! That hurt real bad now! Soon that familar feeling of relief rushed back to him at the sight of the dark red blood that oozed out of the cut and painted his hand red. It dripped down in a trail between his index finger and thumb and a little got onto his palm. He turned his hand around and licked the blood off his palm.
(like a vampire haha i wish i was a vampire id kill them all i wish i could just kill them all but fuck i love them i love her so much no i dont yeah well i wish i didnt)
Mmm, that tasted good mixed with the bitter alcohol taste that was still in his mouth. He reached for a towel that lay in a heap on the bathroom floor and put it to the cut. Apply pressure, hehehe. After a moment he took it off. Yeah, the blood was still oozing but not as much. There was room for another cut. Good, this one would hurt more, probably, since around the first cut his skin was turning a pinkish red from the hurt.
(sometimes i wish someone would talk to me i wish i could talk to HER i cant though theres no point shell say im not over her and im looking for closure but they dont get that i never loved her well i think i didnt)
He slashed his hand again and this time he laughed from the pain. It was very intense--not as good as the first time, granted, but almost. Watched the pretty blood for a few moments, then turned on the hot tap. Waited till it was hot. Nice and hot, yeah. The steam rose and made the mirror foggy. Boiling water, hehehe. He put his hand under the tap-fuck!!! He pulled his hand back, dammit that hurt the worst! He put his hand back, it'd work this time, it better dammit. Oh my God...fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck oh God that's bad. He winced but left his hand there. He knew he wouldn't last for much longer. It was getting unbearable. Fuck it, he pulled back. Shit it stung!
(i probably didnt)
Grabbed the towel, trying to get some relief. The white towel was turning red. Shit. Oh well, he could always throw it out, no harm no foul. Took the towel away to see his hand. Not completely mutilated but nicely hacked up. It was funny how the scars from years ago stood out so much. Like they came up to say hello to the two new ones. He laughed. Anything seems funny when you're drunk like he was. Flipped his arm over and looked at his wrists. Fuck, he badly wanted to cut them. But his stupid sensibility was telling him not to, not when he was drunk, he'd probably fuck it up and end up killing himself. And he listened, because he knew the voice was right. Eh well he'd do it tomorrow morning when the hangover cleared. Then he'd only cut his wrists lightly but being drunk he might cut too deep. Another laugh. That'd be funny.
(nah i didnt love her never loved anyone except her but she doesnt care she doesnt know but if she did she wouldnt care not about me she wouldnt)
Looking at the blood on his hand that was now on his other hand, and also on his lips from licking it, he was happier than he'd been before the cutting, he felt satisfied. He could stop now.
(just a little bit i didn't lick it much no not too much its pretty fucked)
He unlocked the door and went back to the kitchen, about to throw out the towel when he stopped. No, he wouldn't hang himself with it. He wasn't going to. Not while he was drunk. He stuffed the towel in the bin, then went back to wash his hands of the drying blood.
(i'll go to bed now sober up maybe kill myself in the morning no stop thinking like that i wont because what if they care they might)
Now that his hands were washed and dried he glanced at the cuts on his hand. They'd been well worth it. He was better now. So why did he want to cry? No, he wasn't going to cry, fuck no, he couldn't do that. He didn't know why the tears were coming but he wouldn't let them fall. Why waste a good cut by crying? He told himself it was just because he was drunk and this was his first cut in awhile. A good sleep would do the trick.
(sleep forever never wake up shit im such a pussy why dont i do it its because i dont know whatll happen im scared of death i dont know what i believe is it heavan and hell or some shit like that i dunno oh well i wont do it)
He went to bed, but still felt dark and stormy. He didn't know why, he remembered cutting helping him. He wasn't supposed to still feel bad. He punched his pillow, sudden anger consuming him.
(fuck i can't even cut right anymore im such a loser)
He lost all coherent thoughts and drifted off to sleep.
--------dark&stormy--------
It was a dark and stormy night.
(the winds really loud i hope theres a powercut or something)
Perfect.
(probably there won't be i need a smoke)
That's the way he felt. Dark and stormy.
(dammit i hate this being alone but i like it too this is weird i need a smoke)
The cigarette entered the mouth. Long puff, drew it out. Exhaled. Watched the grey smoke poison the air. Dark and stormy. Another puff. Exhaled. Nice and relaxing. But still he felt dark and stormy. Of course he did, a smoke wasn't gonna fix that. He knew what would, though. But fuck, he wasn't gonna give in that easy. Not yet anyway. The smoke was going down. Not much left. Screw it, he was done with it anyway. But might as well take the last puff. Better not waste it. Inhaled it. Yeah, that was nice. Nicotine was nice.
(but fuck i hate them when they act all concerned ooh ooh you smoke its bad for you dont do it but would they really care if i died today?)
Where does he put it out? Oh shit, where was he gonna put out the cigarette? Didn't have an ashtray. He looked down. Jesus, he'd let the ash fall to the floor. Hadn't even noticed. That was funny. Oh well, who cares? Stomped on the ashes, staining the carpet. No one would notice. Carpet was stained already, anyway. Oh, right, the cigarette. Nah, not gonna put it out on the bench. Didn't wanna get any shit for smoking. Put it out on the palm of his hand. Pushed it in hard. Fuck! Oh Jesus, that hurt! Good. He liked the pain. Looked at the mark. That one wasn't gonna scar.
(damn i wish it did i could do it again nah not worth it why am i even fucked over this shes not even worth it ha i never even cared about her so why am i feeling like this its because its topped off all the other shit ive been feeling its because now i dont have a girlfriend back to being a pathetic lonely shit yeah thats it its not her)
He stood up. Was he drunk? Yeah. Yeah he was pretty drunk. His head was spinning. Ow. Tossed the cigarette butt into the bin. Knew what he was gonna do. Probably he'd regret it in the morning, but right now didn't care. Didn't care at all, he wanted to. It would have to be when he was drunk that he went back to it. Of course. Sober him wouldn't have the guts. Fuckin pussy. Yeah, this would get him back on track, then he'd thank drunk him. Oh shit he was so drunk. He laughed. What a suprise he'd get when he woke up. Yeah, then it'd all float back to him in the familiar way during a hangover. He'd think shit-what-have-I-done. But then he'd get addicted again. Not good. Bad thing to do. Laughed again. He liked it, he knew he did. No matter how sensible and....fuck his head hurt. Yeah, he liked it.
(but what if they see the cuts aw they wouldn't notice they don't give a shit about me they pretend they do but i bet they dont especially not now they wouldnt care if they see they wont say anything)
Looked at the bathroom door. Should he use a razor blade? Nah, he was drunk. Better use a kitchen knife, a razor would frustrate him. Ah fuck, why was he thinking like this? He was drunk, he could do what he wanted. Stumbled back to the kitchen and opened the top drawer. Felt around for a knife. Oh yeah, this one was perfect. Big sharp kitchen knife. Looked like Michael Myer's knife. Halloween, good movie. Lots of blood.
(i didnt even love her and i dont love HER no i dont i dont i dont i do but it doesnt matter if i do she doesnt care)
Blood.
(i hope she sees the cut yeah then shell know she wont have a clue why though)
He was getting that craving. Not like the kind of craving you get for smokes. It was that excited, anticpating feeling. Only stronger than he could remember. Must be because he hadn't done it for...fuck, how many years?
(its not an attention cry no not an attention cry not a cry for attention i dont want her to know anyway i just want her to care maybe she does no i bet she doesnt care not at all)
The knife was shimmering. His mouth watered. Fuck, you'd think he was starving and looking at a bucket of KFC. 'Spose he could drink it. He'd done that a few times. It had added to the excitment buthe thought it was pretty fucked up. Shut up now, brain, let's get on with this.
(maybe i should just kill myself no not worth it i wont do that no wont do that tonight)
He looked around. Where was he gonna do it? He wanted to make it special. It was like the first sip of a good beer, the first time you fucked a girlfriend. This was the first time he'd done this for awhile and hell, he was gonna enjoy it. He'd go for the bathroom. He could clean up the blood that way.
(dont want their attention yes i do no i dont shut up dont want their attention now didnt want anyones back then yeah thats right it just made everything worse they were angry they didnt care they were angry at me but i didn't do anything wrong fuck no i didnt theyll think i am fuck i know what they think about me)
So he went in and shut the door and locked it. Put down the toilet lid, sat down. Put his left hand in front of him, spread out his fingers. Took the first cut slowly, savouring the pain. A subtle pain, not that bad. Kinda dissappointing. The flesh cut easily, which was good. Ahhh. Dammit! That hurt real bad now! Soon that familar feeling of relief rushed back to him at the sight of the dark red blood that oozed out of the cut and painted his hand red. It dripped down in a trail between his index finger and thumb and a little got onto his palm. He turned his hand around and licked the blood off his palm.
(like a vampire haha i wish i was a vampire id kill them all i wish i could just kill them all but fuck i love them i love her so much no i dont yeah well i wish i didnt)
Mmm, that tasted good mixed with the bitter alcohol taste that was still in his mouth. He reached for a towel that lay in a heap on the bathroom floor and put it to the cut. Apply pressure, hehehe. After a moment he took it off. Yeah, the blood was still oozing but not as much. There was room for another cut. Good, this one would hurt more, probably, since around the first cut his skin was turning a pinkish red from the hurt.
(sometimes i wish someone would talk to me i wish i could talk to HER i cant though theres no point shell say im not over her and im looking for closure but they dont get that i never loved her well i think i didnt)
He slashed his hand again and this time he laughed from the pain. It was very intense--not as good as the first time, granted, but almost. Watched the pretty blood for a few moments, then turned on the hot tap. Waited till it was hot. Nice and hot, yeah. The steam rose and made the mirror foggy. Boiling water, hehehe. He put his hand under the tap-fuck!!! He pulled his hand back, dammit that hurt the worst! He put his hand back, it'd work this time, it better dammit. Oh my God...fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck oh God that's bad. He winced but left his hand there. He knew he wouldn't last for much longer. It was getting unbearable. Fuck it, he pulled back. Shit it stung!
(i probably didnt)
Grabbed the towel, trying to get some relief. The white towel was turning red. Shit. Oh well, he could always throw it out, no harm no foul. Took the towel away to see his hand. Not completely mutilated but nicely hacked up. It was funny how the scars from years ago stood out so much. Like they came up to say hello to the two new ones. He laughed. Anything seems funny when you're drunk like he was. Flipped his arm over and looked at his wrists. Fuck, he badly wanted to cut them. But his stupid sensibility was telling him not to, not when he was drunk, he'd probably fuck it up and end up killing himself. And he listened, because he knew the voice was right. Eh well he'd do it tomorrow morning when the hangover cleared. Then he'd only cut his wrists lightly but being drunk he might cut too deep. Another laugh. That'd be funny.
(nah i didnt love her never loved anyone except her but she doesnt care she doesnt know but if she did she wouldnt care not about me she wouldnt)
Looking at the blood on his hand that was now on his other hand, and also on his lips from licking it, he was happier than he'd been before the cutting, he felt satisfied. He could stop now.
(just a little bit i didn't lick it much no not too much its pretty fucked)
He unlocked the door and went back to the kitchen, about to throw out the towel when he stopped. No, he wouldn't hang himself with it. He wasn't going to. Not while he was drunk. He stuffed the towel in the bin, then went back to wash his hands of the drying blood.
(i'll go to bed now sober up maybe kill myself in the morning no stop thinking like that i wont because what if they care they might)
Now that his hands were washed and dried he glanced at the cuts on his hand. They'd been well worth it. He was better now. So why did he want to cry? No, he wasn't going to cry, fuck no, he couldn't do that. He didn't know why the tears were coming but he wouldn't let them fall. Why waste a good cut by crying? He told himself it was just because he was drunk and this was his first cut in awhile. A good sleep would do the trick.
(sleep forever never wake up shit im such a pussy why dont i do it its because i dont know whatll happen im scared of death i dont know what i believe is it heavan and hell or some shit like that i dunno oh well i wont do it)
He went to bed, but still felt dark and stormy. He didn't know why, he remembered cutting helping him. He wasn't supposed to still feel bad. He punched his pillow, sudden anger consuming him.
(fuck i can't even cut right anymore im such a loser)
He lost all coherent thoughts and drifted off to sleep.