Broken

[Authors Note: This has been written by a girl who has never self harmed, so if anything seems unrealistic about it, please don't be offended if you have or do. Stay strong lovelies<3]

I lay there silently thinking about how he used to be to me. How he treated me. How he kissed me gently. How he wrapped his arms tightly around me. How he loved me.

What has changed? I ask myself. What made him change? Was it me? Was it his mom and dad dying? Was it a simple thing that should mean nothing, but means everything?

I walk into my clustered bathroom and sit down clumsily and pull my reliever out. It's a sharp, deadly friend of mine that seems to take all of the pain away. "Hello," I weakly say to my razor. I twist it back and forth, admiring the sharp blade. I stand up and look at myself, I run my fingers up and down my bruised left arm, the pain makes me wince.

I bring my left arm up to my abdomen and raise my grey blade up to the surface of my pale skin. I dig the razor into my skin, into the first layer, drops of blood poke out. Tears start streaming out of my eyes and touch my open cut, making me drop my razor and drag my shaky hand to grab the skin. Blood ends up all over the bowl of the sink, I wash my cut and my sink out.

It's 1:30am by the time I lay back down. I start thinking about him again. The same questions I've asked since the day he left me alone, to rot. I've written him letter after letter, I never found the right words to say to him.