Fragility

I can hear their laughing.I can feel the way their stomachs lurch with happiness at my expense. I loved him, yes, but it's been almost three months since our breakup and still he torments me. I thought I was over him, but still I cry sometimes when I'm in the shower. No one can hear me scream there. The water drowns out my sorrowful wails. They are muffled into the water and travel into the drain, down into unknown.

My tears are not for you anymore, but for who you use to be. Harry Potter, boy who lived. You use to mesmerize me with your glow. But now that glow is gone, and all that's left is the cruel and malevolent person who now resides in your body. I can somewhat understand why you turned out the way you did. The spotlights glare was just too strong, and like a fly to a flame you were drawn to it. In your predicament, anyone would. Also, everyone you've loved has left you. Your parents, your godfather, and your best friend, are all gone at you expense. So no wonder you hate yourself. Your loved ones are gone, so why not hate yourself because there is no love coming your way. You had it with me, you had love. But you were too blind to notice and you turned me away. That's okay, because now I notice you're gone. Your not the man I once knew, and he will never come back. I have to get use to it. Just as you would with any loss.

But that does not mean that I don't mourn for you. The person you once were, because he was a wonderful being.

So now I sit here, looking at the pictures on my wall. They tell a wonderful story; A story of first love. Tears begin their journey from my duct to the lush of my lip. A lonely tear, just as I am now. I watch the happy stories, the pictures are almost real. But they are not, because the people in them have changed. I miss you more than over.

So as I sit here, reminiscing over our happy times, a razor blade makes its way to my flesh. How is it that it got into my hand? My fingers feel the cool of the metal under my tips. Is this the way? I'm not sure. But all I can think of when that razor lightly touches my flesh is that you are not who you are. This is a game. It's a test. Lightly I press it to the pale of my skin. My essence seeps through. No pain comes from this quick action. I do it again and again. I repeat this, feeling the pain from my heart drip into my blood and out my body. Almost like a release.

The blood paints a lovely picture down my arm. It spells out your name. I smile at the irony of this. You don't deserve this kind of beauty. But yet, here there you are, you have all of me. But still you laugh at my expense. Because I am a Lamb of God. You are a butcher. Your cleaver bloodies my white wool when laid upon me. I don't deserve this, for I am pure. But yet, I think I love the guilt and pain. If I didn't, then I would have stopped loving you.

I'm pathetic and worthless. Slash; slash until it all drains out. I was once thought to be the luckiest girl in the world. Not here I am, blood dripping from my arms spilling onto the wood floor below me, tears trailing down my cheeks, showing that I am weak and utterly useless.

I try to be strong, but the cheery façade is starting to make me sick. Like the sight of seeing you smile makes the bile rise into my throat. You don't deserve to be happy. Not after what you have done. The cuts on my forearms, I blame each of them on you.

I once tried to escape this. I was forgetting the happy times and focusing on anew. But then my heart came crashing down. And you were there to witness it. You stared back at me as I gasped for air. You green eyes meeting my blank and dormant ones. They flickered with hate and malice. But all I saw was the knife you stabbed into my back and the blood that was trickling down my side. I bled a river for you that day, and you wallowed in it. Splashing and diving, enjoying every drop. Even then, me drowning in my own pain and red was not enough for you to revert back to your old loving self again. You truly changed that day.

That was the day I started the bloodletting. I believed then, that if I bled enough, I could start a new you. You would begin anew. But alas, that was just a hopeless dream. Dreams are gems that you are supposed to grasp tightly in your heart. I once had that, you were a dream. But that's gone, and I must die day by day, because my heart slowly drips, as if damaged.

They say time heals all wounds

But I'm not so sure.

Because why do I still hurt?

And why does this razor keep on getting into my hands and letting the red of my life out?

wow that was……. Dark. Never knew I could write like this.

Most of the inspiration came from my friend. She writes beautiful poems. This is Hermione talking about her feelings towards Harry. I'm thinking of creating a REAl story for this. Maybe, I don't know. Everything's pretty much focused on Quintessence. Tell me what you think about this story.. I would love to know……..

Thanks to those who reviewed. I heart you all.

Review!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

Later loves