Thoughts

Perfect Violin

I'll play the violin, the strings are my slitted skin, the violin is my arm, I'll play the best music ever heard I'll call it, suicide. Everybody will love it, a couple people will dislike the tunes I play. I'll drop dead it was so majestic,people will shout in love, and others will scream in pain. Everyone will leave like always. they never stay. my body will be laying, motionless on the stage with rose petals and tulips scattered around me. you won't be there. cause you leave. you wouldn't even know I played violin. or I died cause I attempted to play the best music of all time. I left before I could say goodbye. you'll notice I'm not home. responding to your texts. I'll be gone, and hell is my home. nobody is allowed to come to earth once locked away in hell. you'll become more and more scared. then you will remember where I was last, my home. kept away from other people and stuffed toys around me, my phone wasn't touched. the last thing on it was Skype when we last talked, the message that I forgot to send was "sorry I couldn't make it". My brother walks in my room, shocked to see me bloodied and shattered, everything is perfectly placed. the note sitting beside me weighted with the razor I strummed on the skin strings, my arm is slashed and hacked by thin and thick cuts from the first and last time I played my perfect violin. and right there. my story ends. until my soul has escaped my body, will the story continue.