Razorblade

By Seraphym

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I don't know why. The fucking bastard. I don't know. Maybe he's not the one who's wrong. Maybe I'm just still lost. Nothing. I just don't know anymore. I tried, you know? I tried the way you try when you really want something, even though its impossible and you know it but you still have to TRY or you'll go insane, WONDERING all the time what would have happened if you'd given it just ONE MORE shot, but then you just wind up giving up. You know what I mean?

Its like that one thing you've always dreamed of, and you'll never get. Stuff that's hard to come by, I mean. Not like that new car you want, that's not the same thing. I'm talking about family, friends, your one true love. I don't even know why I bother. I had one out of three, right? That's not too bad, if you look at where I came from. I've always had friends. Some good, some not as good. I've even had two best friends in my life, and that doesn't happen every day. But that doesn't matter anymore. One's dead, and the other one doesn't care anymore.

Did he ever care? I mean, I know he doesn't really care about anything except his gundam and that damned laptop. But I kinda hoped for a while, you know? That just maybe I could convince him to give liking _people_ a try for a change. That I could be his friend. But friends don't go haul off and punch each other, friends don't yell that much. I don't know why that really bothered me, though. If it were anyone _but_ me getting yelled at, I would have been proud of him for stringing two words together, instead of the usual "hn" that I have come to know and l- no. Not that. I can't have that. It doesn't exist anymore. No one can love death. No one. Or maybe one person. But he doesn't, not really. If he had really wanted to die, he would be dead. He's not that stupid to figure out where the razor blades are.

I could have shown him. They're there for emergencies, you see. Like if I ever get depressed. Or even when I'm not. The option is there, and it takes away the desire. Maybe that's the problem. I'm the razorblade. I'm the painkillers. I'm everything he wants, so he doesn't want me. People are funny like that. Maybe I'm just insane. Or maybe he is. As soon as the razorblade disappears, you need it more than ever. As soon as its there, you don't want it. Strange. But if the razorblade isn't there, you might just go after a gun. In some little tiny way, he's me. Me in this odd little way that maybe only my soul recognizes. But its there. He won't want me until I'm gone. That's just so fucking ironic. Trust me, I'm laughing. He's my razorblade, too. He's my salvation, and its gone. The razorblade is gone. And all that's left is a gun.