It's starts with your day. You feel like complete crap all day. You don't eat breakfast or lunch. You failed a test. You forgot your homework and now you have a detention. You get assigned a really long project that is due in one week and you don't know if you'll be able to finish in time. You dread going home. You know your mom is going to chew you out for failing your classes. You're going to get grounded. So when you get home. You pop in ear buds and you go to your room. You shut the door and turn the music even louder. You find the blade. You sit on your bed and lay it in front of you. You argue with yourself. You know you want to. But there is still that tiny part that says no. You start to cry. You wonder how after all that happened in your life, how it ended up like this. How everything came to this; you and a blade. You start crying even harder. But still silently. Your tears are dripping down your face. You pick up the blade. You're still crying. Your eyes are squeezed shut. As you pick up the blade, your crying calms. You finger the blade. You run your finger down it soft enough to not get cut. Your crying slows even more. You set it to your wrist. You embed it in your wrist and drag it slowly across. You smile. It feels so good. You pull it out. Your crying has stopped completely now. You set it down again and once again drag. And again. And again. And again. Until you notice the warm blood running down your arm. You open your eyes. You look at your cuts and smile. It felt so good. You feel better. You go into the bathroom and wash them out. It burns. You smile even more. The pain is amazing. It's the most you've felt in months. You wrap your cuts and cover it with you sleeve. And you continue your day. No one noticing the scars that are slowly forming. No one noticing the wrap in your wrist. Because no one cares.
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