fading into nothingness

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Her pov

Why is she looking at me like that?

I don't recognise her, she looks exhausted. Dark brown circles loom under her eyes, her hair is a mess.

She's wearing the same baggy clothes that she's been wearing all week. The same baggy clothes that hide exposed ribs and deep lines of burgundy.

The girl hasn't showered in weeks, she didn't have the energy.

She carefully lifts up her jumper, wincing as the tough fabric brushes against fresh cuts, revealing what looks like a skeleton, she sighs, not skinny enough she whispers to herself, not skinny enough.

I want to hit her, I want to punch her, but if I did the mirror would shatter.

I step over plates, cups and clothes that scatter across my bedroom floor, kicking anything that gets in my way out of anger. I hear something crack beneath my feet, I couldn't give two fucks though.

Opening a small box I draw out a blade of silver, bringing it to my skin, carefully etching a thick  line of red on my wrist that definitely no cat could cause.

Droplets of blood form, eventually rolling down my arm in pleasing little streams.

Just one more.

This one is deeper, gracefully curving the blade in and then out of my skin,

A blade filled with guilt.

A blade laced in lies.

It hurt so much, but I liked it that way; I deserved it.

Just one more.

I carved line after line after line, the same two words dancing around my dark soul.

Feel something

Feel something

"Feel something." I scream, my voice cracking in anger; I look at the cut I had so perfectly drawn.

So red and so deep, and so perfectly straight.

I drop my silver pen to the floor, feeling light headed.

I'm left to lie in a pool of my own art.

Because it's always just one more, until you're dead.

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