I sit in a bath full of blood and tears with people's judgement in ears playing in my head like a broken tape. Alone in my bathroom wondering what I did wrong to deserve all of this. Maybe everyone will be better off if I'm gone. The lines I carve into my body blood starts pouring out. Will today be my last? I wonder if anyone will notice. Should I test my body's limits on how much blood I can loose? I lay there watching the blood pour out of the cuts. Today is my last.
Should I write more?
