I've been sitting here for hours.
Have not moved from my spot.
I've desided not to get on my bus to go home.
There is nothing there for me anymore.
I'm happy because of one thing.
I brought my blades on this trip
They are in the bag right beside me just under a small little lid.
There's very few people in here and they almost all look dead.
Barely any movement with pale faces all around.
I'm going to the washroom where my body will be found.
I closed and locked the door of little stall where I'll die.
I open my bag and grab the tiny case where my many blades lie.
The sharpest one is up front and Centre and I grabed it in one slight movement.
My sleeves are rolled up my scared arm is ready again.
As the metal touches my skin I press as hard as I can.
The red blood stars pouring out, but I'm not done yet.
I make more cuts each one deeper then before.
Straight down my arm the blade is going and I think I'm almost done.
I move to my other arm doing what I've done to the other one.
My bloody blade drops to the floor.
I smile and tell myself "yay I'm almost dead".
I sit back as the blood pours out so very thick.
All I see is black now and I think I finally did it.
The last thing I heard was the bus horn, and I think I just missed it.
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Just wanna tell you guys right now I'm jn the exact setting of this poem/story. I even have my blades in my bag right beside me. And this story is about what I would like to do right now.
