No Emotion Behind My Smiles [W.I.P.]

~Pain~

We laid in bed, staring at our ceiling. I didn't want us to get up yet. I wanted us to lay here forever, eventually rotting away.
He decided we needed to do our homework otherwise the teachers will hate us more.

He went over to the desk to pull out a pencil to do our homework.
Forgetting about what we had inside, he opened the drawer.

The handle made for grip.
The edge dull for more pain.
The blade stained red.

I was drawn to it. It pulling me in. I grabbed it. Our hands shaking.
Our wrists begging, itching for attention. He hesitated, but I couldn't wait. I grabbed the knife, held it in our arm, and started. Straight lines, more and more along our arm. Blood pooling out of the thin lines.

We deserve this. We deserve this.
We deserve this.

Nothing about us was perfect.
He knew that as much as I did.
I could feel tears run down our face. I stoped them. Im tired of us crying. Seems like that's the only thing we can do.

We deserve this. We deserve this.
We deserve this.

More and more, pressing harder and harder. We managed to go all the way to our sleeve. Our arm looking like a very thin ladder.
A ladder freshly pained red.
Dripping wet paint, waiting to dry.

Once the I make the blood start clotting, we grab some bandages and wrap them up our arm. He grabbed a sweatshirt to further hide them under our long-sleeve shirt. I didn't know why he wanted to cover them.

People should know what they are causing. What they are doing every time they call us a man-whore. When they call us fat, too skinned to be eating, poison to the rest of the world.

Don't they realize?
They are the poison.
They are the disease.
Knifes are the cure.