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micky100

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Blare the speakers. Let it rain. Let me cry. All the things I wanted to do, I couldn't. I couldn't go to my room, and slam the door. I couldn't blare the speakers to drown my thoughts. I couldn't cry in the rain. He died and all I could do was sit next to his mom and allow her to cry when me myself could not. I think of the little control I have over my life, that has not been stolen by them, and of what I am to do with this last sliver of control. I will not give it up, thats for sure. I will do something to make myself fell better... no, that wont help, but I'll do it anyways. I have heard of people cutting themselfs before, but I dont know if I could do it, but I would try because its all I could do until I build myself back up again.

So once his mom and my own had left and I was alone, I strode into the kitchen and found a small, slightly dull knife and ran to my room. His picture was proped up on my bedstand, and just seeing it made my knees buckle out from under me. I curled up into a tight ball right there on the floor, then sat up and leaned my head on the side of the bed. I looked at the knife that intimidated me so. I rolled up the sleeve of my black lace top, and traced my vains with the knife, but not putting any force behind the action. Then I pushed it into my arm, and saw crimson flow like a flood out of my arm. Then it was so dark.

I woke in the hospital a couple of days later, blood transfusions had to be made, and my mother had enrolled me to a shrink. Crap. It was something I shall never forget... The way emotions rushed into my heart right before I plunged the knife into my arm... Thats what I had wanted, and I want it again...