Bruised
I came home and went straight to my room. I locked my bedroom door. I release the handle slowly, turn around and lean on the door. I slide down the door and hunch in a ball. This is what I've done for the past month. To begin with I was depressed all the time. After awhile my "friends" were getting annoyed with my new attitude. So I started acting like my old self. Bouncy, happy and a huge klutz. They all thought I had gotten over him. Truth is, I hurt, all over. Everywhere I go it hurts because it reminds me of him. And I cry for the pain to stop, and it doesn't. I've tried nearly everything. Cutting myself makes the pain go away for a second. Blood pours. Life pours. That's the only thing I have now. Blood and life, pouring out of me. Every night I hope and pray that I've cut deep enough for the pain to finally leave forever. I lye in the bath and see my reflection. I'm bruised. All over. I picked up the blade, light shining off of it. I place it on my left wrist and place five cuts on it, and than the same on the right. Have to keep symmetrical. I place my wrists in the bath water and watch it turn to pink. I love the colour pink, always have. It's getting harder to see my reflection and I know that this time I will never have to feel the pain ever again. I look up and make sure that the note I wrote is on the bathroom sink, telling everyone that I gave up and that I was sorry. Telling them that I always will love them. With that I let myself be numb.