TRUST ME

JUST ANOTHER SUNDAY NIGHT

JUST ANOTHER SUNDAY NIGHT:

The knife sits above me as the wrists bleed. Worlds colliding. I'm beginning to feel dizzy. My head is throbbing, my back is aching, my chest is bumping, my heart is beating, just beneath the skin and bones. I can feel it, pumping, working it's hardest to keep me alive. My stomach is turning. I think I am going to collapse. My feet touch the cold hard wooden floors. I drag my feet as I walk down the hall, in the dark. Touching the cold wall guiding me, through this empty house.

I put the knife back in it's place. I push myself against the wall, and fall down flat. I'm beginning to hate myself even more. I grab my wrist to stop the bleeding, the cut's and scars run up my arm, in all different directions. I push myself up. I close my eyes tightly, grabbing my mouth quickly, as I feel it coming up. I walk quickly to the bathroom, nearly tripping over myself. Clumsy as I am, Just another thing I hate about myself.

I collapse, and fall on my knees. Hard on the bathroom floor. My face falls into my hands, as the tears, blur my vision, my throat swelling, killing my breathing it feels like. I stumbled up, holding the tears back. Another day, just another day. I walk out, trying my hardest not to make a sound. My parents are asleep, peacefully in there convulsive dreams, unlike mine, they patricide me. There asleep, and I must not wake them. Or else, they will see what I have done to myself.

It's coming again. Dwelling in my chest. It's starting to burn. I cough loudly into my hand. I close my eyes, as it leaks between my fingers. I move my hand slowly away from my face. As the blood is splattered across my palm. Not this again. Oh God not this again. I beg you.

My eye's begin to feel heavy as the tears begin to stream down my face. I hear movement in the room next door and panic. My heart begins to race, as I wipe away a tear. I hide it once again, but whipping it on my leg. Letting it blend with the blue. I open my door slowly. I walk into the dark. There it sits above my bed stand. I pick it up, push it behind the books.It's okay. It's just another night.

It's just another Sunday night.

- This was something I wrote years ago, in a time od depression I was feeling, and the stupid.