Solitary confinement in ones own mind is torturous.
All i can think of is the blade. Silver, smooth, sharp, clean, cold, ready. Just imagine its sharp tongue tearing through my flesh, creating redness and crimson liquid. Dragging it in deep. Fine, long, small, thin, thick, lines of broken skin hidden underneath layers of clothing. A burning sensation sparking on the side of my outer thigh. Fire, heat. Pain as present as fire but as unnoticed as a flinch.
Agonizingly long licks from my silver companion I hide. The long licks burning fiercely, passionately. Fighting to be noticed. Refusing to lay throughout such pain, I breathe.
In. Out. Repeatedly, constantly. Cold air penetrates my lungs, distracting my mind from the excruciating fire burning my wounds.
But it's okay. I'm not depressed. I'm not suicidal. I was never diagnosed. I was never caught. I was never hospitalized.
I live like my life is sorted. To on lookers, I'm enjoying teen life.
But truly, I'm reviling in this burning pain.
YOU ARE READING
Emotional Shorts
RandomThis is just a book of what I want to write down. I put it on here hoping it could help others see that their not alone. I would not call them stories or poems. Just thoughts that get stuck in my head for the day, or even just a scene I wish to add...
