Dear... Diary..?
It has been a week... I think.. since I left. Everything feels like it is in black and white. I feel my old sixteen year old depression coming back to haunt me.. Right now I am staring at my cuts.. wondering... what do they look like on the inside now. Today I sat in class, wondering about.. would drowning hurt? Did doing a rope suicide in your home crack your neck like with tall ceilings and jumping or did you just suffocate? I wonder already if Leila would come to my funeral, even though we only knew each other for a day. I have tried taking anti pills for my sadness, but my magic just deflects them.. I try... I really do. But in class all I do is stare at my cuts, write in this, doodle their names, think about death or write one of these poems, At the moment my subject is the sins I have been feeling. Here is one, Enjoy Dear Diary:
Pretty girl,
Oh pretty girl,
Share your fame with me?
Pretty girl,
Oh pretty girl,
Share your happiness with me?
Pretty girl,
Oh pretty girl,
I feel the need to ask,
"How do you do it?"
YOU ARE READING
One O'clock
Ficção AdolescenteLykra James. Not a normal girl. That was easy enough to tell.
