fourteen
My head rests against the cold bathroom tiles.
I am shivering. My hair is wet with my own bile. My head is pounding and my eyes are open. It hurts it hurts it hurts.
I try to move myself but I can't. I scrunch my face up and with all of the force I can muster, I try to move my hand. But it does nothing. I am hopeless.
I count the number of pill containers on the counter. Eight. I look at the colour of a towel. White. I look at the wilted flowers. What colour are they?
My own mind blinds me. I can't see anymore. Flashes of colour, mindless screams, water in my lungs. I breathe, but I'm drowning.
I am my own killer. I am my own danger.
