Harry Potter looked out from the dusty window of number 4 Privet Dr. He despritely wanted to be free. 'Only a few more days and I will really be home' was his only real thought for the past week.
He got out his guitar that Dudley threw away. Why? Not the right colors. For Harry...it was perfect. A perfect blending of black and red. Just like his emotions. This summer was worse than the last. His true best friend that has been with his since the begining, (Hedwig) had died by being shot by hunters. Hermione, decided that she didn't need to hear his constant sad news and told him to stop writing to her. The only friend Harry had now was Ron. Harry had taught himself how to play this guitar and he kept it by his side constantly. Nobody cared in the house, as long as Harry didn't play too loud. Harry strummed a few strings, put it in tune, and began playing a sad, meloncholy song. Singing along as he played.
"I hurt myself today
to see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
the only thing that's real
the needle tears a hole
the old familiar sting
try to kill it all away
but I remember everything
what have I become?
my sweetest friend
everyone I know goes away in the end
you could have it all
my empire of dirt
I will let you down I will make you hurt
Harry could feel tears coming on, but he fought them back.
I wear this crown of shit
upon my liar's chair
full of broken thoughts I cannot repair
beneath the stains of time
the feeling disappear
you are someone else I am still right here
what have I become?
my sweetest friend
everyone I know goes away in the end
you could have it all
my empire of dirt
I will let you down I will make you hurt
if I could start again
a million miles away
I would keep myself I would find a way"
Finally he let a silent tear flow from his cheek. He has changed alot during this summer break. "Emo" as some would call it. He stepped in front of the mirror in his small bedroom. His hair had gotten alot longer, maybe he should cut it. He went to his drawer, reached in, and found his sicissors. He put them to his hair, and noticed the sharpness of the blades. How easy would it be to cut through skin to his veins? Should he find out? He slowly lowered the utensil, with a determined one track mind. He put one blade to his wrist. Is he really going to do this...? He pressed harder at the thought, making small drops of blood trickle down the side of his wrist. Harry felt the pain cear through his body, and decided to stop. 'I hope tomarrow is a better day.' he thought as he held his bleeding wrist and eventually passed out on his bed.
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