A/N: I suppose there is only this to say; I'm doing my degree work in school now, and I hope to become more active, finally, in continuing on my fanfictions. I'm hoping to keep my inspiration open by alternating between my school work and my writings.
Drip... drip... drip...
Yet another cut.
Yet another wound.
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As I look at the collection of scars and half healed wounds, I can't help but wonder; will they ever heal?
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I heard from somewhere that if you use a razor, and cut fine, short wounds… small wounds…they wouldn't leave a permanent mark. Now… looking at the older scars…I wonder if it's true?
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Why do I cut?
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Why do I torment my body so?
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Others have hurt me.
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Of course cutting hurts as well.
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But…
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It's different.
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This time I'm hurting myself, so it's okay.
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I hide my pain behind a smile and a laugh that no one knows is fake.
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I'm so tired…
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of everything…
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Of everyone…
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And I wonder…
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What it would be like…
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to just end it all…
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But am I really that weak?
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Inside me, I feel hatred.
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I feel sorrow.
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But most of all,
I feel disgusted.
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I disgust myself.
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And I hate myself for being so weak.
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Sometimes when I'm around others, I let out a fake laugh.
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And sometimes I can almost convince myself…
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that there is no pain…
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There is no pain