Life Is A Bitch, Right?

Friends?

Days go by and you sit quietly, looking about you and listening to what goes on around you. Insults and crude jokes that are meant to be funny. Smile at the right moments, stifle a fake laugh in perfect timing, make it through another day without crying. Every day is just a pattern. Every other day, for just over an hour you're important, you're liked, you exist. The rest of the day you're nothing but a joke to them and someone to ignore. "Baby don't cry. Don't scream. Just close your eyes and pretend this is a dream, it's all a dream." Are words you go by daily, but how long will can you pretend without just being hollow? My razor seems to be a good friend, my darling edged friend named Cece. Sure, Chris doesn't like you, but that's okay he doesn't find out until Cece's visit is over. Suicide on the mind is so wrong but it feels so goddamned right. Only alive for this one last night sounds great to me but I'm too afraid too damn weak. I can't leave him alone, and I don't want to be just another number on the percent of teen deaths. Maybe if I ask someone they'll at least cut me deep enough to really hurt and bleed then maybe all the pain will go away with the blood that leaves me. The pain will too. Maybe "IR" can do it maybe they'll go farther and take away my last breath. But I'm a whimp, I can't just walk up to them and ask. I just have to suffer through... Until when?friends are supposed to care, supposed to help. Do I need new friends if they're the reason Cece comes out to play?