How is it that my life has become total and utter crap? That line isn't as elegant as I'd like it to be, but it's brutally honest; asking the one question that has been plaguing my mind for the last 3 months. I'm not one to whine, never was and never will be. But when your life gets to the point where you cut yourself to the brink where not one part of arms and legs are untouched, then you got a problem. When your life gets to the point where you cut yourself because it eases the pain in your heart, then something is wrong. I guess there is something wrong. I know it is. Maybe I'm just doing this for attention? Maybe, somewhere in the back of my brain, I do this all for the stares and the glances I get from people when they see my arms? I don't think so though I never was one for attention. No, I get in trances. Ever get into those; Trances? Well I do, and they are frightening. My body tenses, every muscle hums with intensity and I sit there, reciting suicide poems. Then something sharp gets into my hands and I slash. Never deep enough, never enough to die.
Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines,
He wrote poem
And he called it "Chops"
Because it was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
And a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
And read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
Took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
With tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl from around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
And he asked his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him into bed at night
And was always there to do it
I'm pathetic, because I read this poem all the time. I think it's tragically beautiful and it makes me cry. A lot of things make me cry. Like the thought of him. But lets not go there. But it's true, I am pathetic. I am a shattered lamb, lying on the ground bloody and decrepit. I'm gaunt and I cry for those I love, but they don't answer because I'm not who they want. I'm not what he wants. I'm not what my parents want. They say divorce is never easy on a child, well that is an understatement. I feel that I am at fault for what's happening in my life. Love is gone, and the symbol of love, my parents, has broken apart. They say they don't love each other anymore. They've fallen out of love, like he did with me. But I don't think he loved me in the first place. I'm not going to talk about that because its not needed. I need help, there I've admitted it. My ears ring now, because I've gone against my body. My body wasn't ready to admit it. There's a deafening ring in my ears. It hurts. Am I going crazy? Or am I already there?
Once on a white piece of paper with
blue lines
He wrote a poem
And he called it "autumn"
Because that was the name of the season
And that was what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
And asked him to write it more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
Because of new paint
And the kids told him
that father Tracy smoked cigars
And left the butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
When he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in at night
And his father got mad
When he cried for him to do it.
Draco Malfoy caught a look at my arms today. His eyes, for the first time in the period that I've known him, were understanding and warm. Something so unlike him. There was no sneer or remark. He just looked at me like he was surprised that I would do something like this. Well guess what buddy, I do. I do it every time things get to be too much and I cant handle it. Frequently I may add. But I haven't done it for the last 3 weeks now. I've been good. I'm looking at a better view point. I'm less pessimistic. Or at least I think I am. It scary when I do get to that point where I want to self mutilate. It feels like a geyser inside my soul, ready to burst and spill the pain out. And when it does blow, its frightening. Because instead of water that spills out of this geyser, blood drips, slowly and painfully.
Once on a piece of paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it " Innocence; A question"
Because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
And a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
Because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
Of the apostles creed went
And he caught his little sister
Making out on the back porch
And his mother never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
But he kissed her anyway
Because that was the thing to do
And at three A.M he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring loudly
I wish to God I could stop this. To will this pain away because it's the worst thing in the world. Emotions dig their way through your skin like parasitic worms and cause you to hurt. They attach to your heart and suck you dry. It's a painful process, but oh-so necessary to love, or to be loved. But soon, if things go wrong, the worms that are your emotions, fill with the blood from your heart and burst, causing bacteria to spread through your body and make you sick; sick to the point of hating yourself and causing pain to you. I hate myself, because the bacteria from the worms have traveled through my body, making every point sick, and then traveled to my heart which is the most fragile place. I hate myself because I am not what they want. I wake up feeling like the world hates me, and that I am not loved. But then the rational part of my brain kicks in and it says 'your loved god dammit' and then this feud starts in my brain; between the self hating part and the rational part. And this is what is going to drive me to the point of madness.
That's why on the back on a brown paper bag
He tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely nothing"
Cause that what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
And a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
Because this time he didn't think
That he could reach the kitchen
Things change, I figured that much from this poem. See, the boy here couldn't take the enormity of the transformation. His childhood, so innocent and beautiful, Is taken away from him because of time. He finds out the sins of others and he can't take it. This nagging feeling of how people change brings him to the brink of madness and ultimately death. I'm a lot like this boy. My life changed, people I know and love have left me and gone for something better. I see clearly now, that everything isn't as golden as it use to be, because the rust soon comes and covers it all.I see that people aren't good and pure, that their hearts are dirty and full of greed. And that's the most painful thing in the world, because it truly means that my innocence is lost. I hope to god that I don't end up like this boy in the poem, because I truly don't want to die. But I'm afraid I will. Because, I am weak just like him.
So how did you like this chapter? I've decided that I'm going to make this into a full blown story. Maybe starting from where Harry betrayed her, and to the point where she finds love again? How'd that be?
The poem in this chapter is from the book " The perks of being a wallflower" I tell you this is truly an amazing book and I suggest you all to read it. Beautiful story and my favorite book ever ( even better than Harry Potter!!!) that's just my opinion…
Well review!!!!!!!!!!11