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I sit in my room

Music blasting in my ears.

Staring at the fresh wounds on my arms.

Shaking, I clutch my scissors- my wepon of choice.

Using it to fight my demons, my phantoms and myself.



Its so dull. Both the pain and the blade.

I barely draw blood.

Yet I'm too scared to use the razor at my bedside table.

What if I go too deep?

What if I die?

I'm scared. Scared. Scared.



I'm scared of disappearing into nothing.

I have yet to fall in love, to get married,

Have children

Realize all of my dreams.



All I want is a distraction from my internal pain.

To bring to the surface some of my suffering.

So the world can see what its doing to me.

Wearing me down until I cant handle it anymore.



I write this through blurred eyes.

I know I'm worth nothing.

I know I'm a waste of everything.

I know all of this, but I'm a coward.

I live selfishly.

Instead f doing everyone a favor and disappearing like I should,

I sit in my room.

Crying.

Writing down this pathetic little tale.



I look down again.

A bit of blood smudged on my laptop.

I wipe it away with my thumb.

And maybe, just maybe,

This same hand will eventually snuff out my own smudge of a life?



Because either I'll kill myself- or society will do it for me.

COMMENTS

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Nerothesable
08:46 Apr 30 2011

ur not a waste

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