I lost myself in love.

I found myself alone.

After that, everything was blurry. I had sat on the bed and watched as my beloved fell, his blood pooling and seeping into the carpet around him. After awhile his blue eyes had gone vacant. There was nothing left in him. Nothing left in me. Nothing left in the world around me. Insanity was gone, and the void he had once filled was even more painful then before.

With a shaking hand I had dropped the still loaded gun beside me. I crawled on my unsteady hands to that scrap of paper and sat there, staring at the corpse in front of me. With the death of insanity, my brain didn't know how to think. Insanity had controlled every thought I had for the past few months, and my brain and my heart had all depended on what he said.

And at that moment, staring at that paper, it all hit me. I had killed the only person I loved. The only person who had loved me. My chest began to hurt, my heart twisted, my lungs screamed out for air. Tears had began to pour from my eyes, how could I do that to him? My best friend, my boyfriend, my only friend at all. How worthless was I to do that to a him? My mind began to scream at me, the horrible obscenities that had formed in my mind pushed at me. Their claws dug into me, the pain piercing. I wanted him back, I needed him back. I needed help. I needed love. I needed him, and he was gone. Because of me. Because I had killed him.

My teeth had dug into the inside of my cheek, blood seeping out. I swallowed the blood, my pain eased slightly as I did. I glanced down into the paper in my hand, it was now a bright shade of crimson. My heart skipped as I noticed my hands and arms too. It hadn't been just my mind clawing at me, but my nails too. Along my arms were long red stripes, and the rest of arms had areas of small crescent shaped wounds where my nails had stabbed into me. I sat watching as the blood pushed its way out of me, running down my arms and pooling out into my jeans. A tear slipped down my face, falling into the red streaks. My wound burned, the salt from my tear stinging. My hand slightly shook as I reached over to wipe it away. The blood smeared across my arm as I had sat back and looked at Insanity's corpse again.

His heart still whispered to me, his plans still in my mind. But I couldn't do it. Not the way he said. I murdered him, and I needed a death suited for a murderer. Shakily, I had pulled my self from the ground, the red paper still in my hand. I made my way through the debris of the room, stepped delicately over Insanity's sweet lifeless body, and pushed my way into the darkness of the hallway.

I tiptoed through the apartment, as if making any noise would wake Insanity from his eternal slumber. When I had reached my room though, the memories had hit me. Insanity had come to life in that room, had saved my life in that room, and had given me every reason to live. And now I was about to take that life, just as I had taken his. Had taken his life without a second thought, without hesitation. I had murdered him as easily as I had created him. My breathe caught in my throat. I deserved what was coming to me.

As I had went through my room, I had held my breathe. I remember thinking that if I had moved to fast or made a noise then everything that had ever happened with Insanity in that room would have vanished and I would been left the same way as he had found me. A depressed girl who didn't have the courage to kill herself. That was the only thing different from the way I was then from the way I was before Insanity. I grabbed the knife from the room and made my way back through the hall. Crying as I moved, I tripped and fell multiple times. I no longer had a fear of waking Insanity. My sobs seemed to follow me down the hall, taunting me, laughing.

I dropped to the floor next to Insanity, his blood soaking into my jeans. I was so tired by then. I just wanted to go to sleep, to lay in my bed and dream again. Dream it all away. But I couldn't, because of my own selfish, stupid, horrible actions. I slide the knife along my wrist. I couldn't be happy because of me. Because of my dumb, dumb depression. The knife slashed into me a couple more times, each time faster and deeper then the next. Because I was just so messed up in the head, so insane, so crazy, so unbalanced, so, so fucking psychotic, I just had to kill him. I had to. The blood slowly slipped from my arm. Then poured out, rushing down my arm like a waterfall. I clenched my jaw, the knife dug into me more and more. My hand had been wrapped around it so tight, my fingers had gone white.

I lay my wrist over Insanity's body, blood flowing from my gashes onto his shirt. My whole body shook now, hatred and pain racking my nerves. I shifted my fingers, trying to get a better grip on the knife. I was a horrible person. A mental loony girl who deserved to die. I was worthless, I was nothing. And the small time that Insanity had spent with me, had made me into something. Something somebody loved. And then I screwed it up. And I was nothing again. No, not nothing. Worse then nothing. I was me. In plain view, no lies, no false dreams. No faking anymore. I was a killer. A dark viewed, mindless, depressed little girl who fell for someone who didn't even exist.

Insanity's hearts whispers had became overpowered by my own hearts screams at that point. The shriveled up, small thing was screeching at me, from the top of its lungs, yelling out horrible, degrading things. The knife ripped at my skin, blood gushing out now. As I pushed harder and harder, the knife sliced at my nerves, and my eyes began to blur. The pain had become so unbearable I began to yell out, tears rushing down my face. My heart beating into my ears, Kill yourself, Kill yourself, Kill yourself.

I clenched my eyes shut, blindly digging into my own flesh with the knife. My blood soaked hand began to jerk about, the nerves and muscles unable to cooperate. I screamed out, trying to hold my injured hand still. Die, the hearts whispered to me. I held the knife tight in my hand, every inch of my body shaking. I was going to end this, my stupid little puppet life. The life that I had always hated, I was going to get away from it all, the pain, the worry, the sadness, I was going to get away. And I was going to be with Insanity, forever.

Only it didn't work out that way at all.

I gripped the knife tighter in my hand, the pain poured into me as the blood poured out. I stared into the back of my eyelids, Insanity's perfect face there. His blue eyes looking in to mine. I needed him. I needed him. I needed him. I just, I couldn't live without him. Pain controlled me without him, an endless, horrible, ripping, pain. As my hand spasmed, I cried out again. The knife almost slipping from my convulsing hand, burning tears gushed down my face. I raised the knife one last time. Kill yourself, Kill yourself, Kill yourself, my heart whispered. And as I had went to slam that knife into my wrist, something stopped me.

A hand had gripped my corrupt arm, another hand yanking the bloody knife from my cold fingers. The two arms wrapped around my trembling body. I know now that it wasn't Insanity, but for a split second, I had actually believed it was his soft, warm arms that had saved me that night. I never did get to see who had saved me that night, the tears that gushed from my eyes had prevented me from that. In-fact, now that I look back on it, I don't remember anyone's face. The therapist say that was probably because I had gone into shock, just as most killers do after killing. More than likely though, it was because of the blood lose.

Yes, I had lost so much blood that night that when the cops had finally gotten me to the hospital, no one thought I would make it. They did their best to stitch up my wounds, but some gashes had seemed impossible to stop from bleeding. Even now my arm doesn't work just correctly. Sometimes it twitches when I have a drink in hand and the liquid flys everywhere. Other days it spasm, even when I'm not using it. The doctors were going to fix it, until the final verdict in my trial case came down and it seemed pointless to save a dieing girls hand.

See, Insanity doesn't leave with a quiet whisper of goodbye in the dark or a small wave and smile, he doesn't leave at all, really. He just makes your life a living hell, and disappears from sight. But he's still there, he's always there.

So, that night I thought I had killed the love my life, I had actually killed my father. He had come home early after talking with his girlfriend and cooling down. The lawyers told the jury, "He had gone home that night to try and sort out his difficulties with his child. He only wanted to make amends. He had only wanted to help his sweet daughter with her problems. But instead of coming home to the daughter he had raised and loved since she was born, he came home to a evil, loathsome, destructive daughter, who killed her own father that night!"

The lawyers made a wonderful case, and even with my own attorney pleading my insanity and mental illness-es and such, I was found guilty "do to default." Apparently, the number of children killers had been on a rise for a very long time, and so, as to show the public that they would not deal with such poisonous children with a soft hand, they choose me to be the spokesperson of evil teens. My lawyer slowly began to slack off as the evidence had piled against me, my own brothers admitted to my hatred for my father, my fathers girlfriend saying she was always scared of me, therapist who only wished to dissect my tangled mess of brains testified evidence that I wasn't insane as I thought I was. It didn't take long for the world to hate me as much as I hated me.

And now, I sit in a cold, metal room awaiting my death. It's not that different from where I first started off.