Too much
Too much
My mind is racing. I am thinking too much. I hold my breath and count to ten like the new therapist told me to do. They hurt, my heart and my brain pounding. My blood thick inside my body taunts me for release. I begin to itch. My bony hands sweating, hardly gripping the razor I had broke just minutes before. I feel like I might vomit. I didn't eat today, or yesterday. I'm too tired to eat. I sit in the tub as the water from the shower head beats against my ivory skin. I look up, hoping the big man will give me a sign. Just one sign. I beg with my eyes to the ceiling than lower my head in between my bruised knee caps. My hand trembling as I tighten my hold on the sharp sliver of metal. Raising it to the god that never answered me, I begin my 61st cut on my right thigh. Sounding like ripping paper, my skin slicing, over and over, again and again. My body crumbles so that I'm laying on my back, new openings in my skin pouring out a crimson tide, stinging while the hot water splashes against them. I have feared a lot in life, But I do not fear losing life itself. For life is growth and I am terrified of growing. Death happens everyday. Why can't I just fade like the cadavers that float away like mist in people's memories. I am halfway dissolved, I have no purpose. I have done nothing right in this horrifying roller coaster of life.
I am fucked up.
Nothing will help me anymore.
