Today I stay home. If you can call it that. Can you call a hell - hole your home? If it's not a hole of hell to everyone else then I guess I'm special.
I.
I write.
I write and.
I write and I.
I write and I write and I write.
Nothing shows up. I use a pen with no ink, a pencil with no lead. I cannot let them know. I cannot let them see. How I truly feel?
THEY CANNOT KNOW!
The way I cry at night.
The angry lines that cover my thighs.
My stomach.
The things that I hate.
The things that ruin me more than I am already ruined.
I have a secret for you.
I do not stay silent for my parents - I am too selfish for that.
I stay silent for myself.
SIX months.
SEVEN people.
FIVE months.
no one.
My friends.
What friends?
The ones that left me when I counted on them most?
'Oh sorry, you're just too strange for us now. I know I've needed much form you in the past, but you'll be fine now.'
Those friends?
They helped drive me here.
To this cliff.
To my insanity.
YOU ARE READING
Silent
RandomHer parents are dead, and now she doesn't speak. He wants to push her, but how far, and why?
