He pulls the trigger of the gun with tears as the barrel is pointed between his eyes.
FUUCK!!! Why didn't it work? I know the guns loaded, i know the safety was off. Was the bullet a dud?
He cries as he messes with the gun and unloads it and looks at the 9 caliber bullet in his hand.
No it hit the primer, Its as if the fucking gods or whoever the hell is watching me loves to torture me they love to see me in pain and see me as the pathetic piece of shit that i am. Cant they see my life has already been fucked up enough?
He throws the gun down onto his bed and sits down covering his face with his hands as he keeps crying.
BUT HEY I CAN FAKE A FUUCKING SMILE RIGHT?!?!?! Meh he's fine if he can smile he can still go throw with all this fuckin torture.
He tries to make the voices in his head shut up but they wont, they never do. The bottle wont solve it, neither does maryjane.
Why is it that every time someone else is depressed or suicidal i always help them. But anytime i ask for help from them no one is ever there to help me.
He continues to keep crying but he looks up at his ceiling as the tears run down his face. he doesn't try to hide his pain, his arms are covered in scars from all the times he cut.
Even if i am dying inside i will always help someone else before i make sure i am ok. I would sacrifice my own sanity to make sure my friends are ok but they wont do the same they don't care as much.
He stands up and walks out of his room and passes the noose he has tied up on the floor.He walks into the bathroom and splashes water on his face to clean the salt off his face from his tears. He then begins to reach for the straight razor he has and puts it against his thighs, and slowly slides it across his legs and watches as his crimson blood flows out from the wound.
Every one is saying that "you need to be a good person, u need to be polite" BUT DOES ANYONE CARE ABOUT THE PERSON WHO IS ACTUALLY NEEDS HELP OR ARE THEY ALL TO WORRIED ABOUT THEMSELVES!!! Cuz it sure doesn't look like they give a shit about anyone else except themselves.
He grabs a Kleenex and dabs the blood so he can see the wound better. Then walks back into his living room and starts to cry again.
Come on stop crying already, it makes you look pathetic and weak. do you really want to be known as weak? Huh? GET YOUR WEAK ASS UP. OR DO YOU NEED A REAL REASON TO CRY YOU WORTHLESS SHIT STAIN!!!
He walks out to his balcony still crying and jumps, he is six stories up and he knows you can die. Someone else had jumped from that floor before and he died. He new it wouldn't be painless but it would be better than everything else.
YOU ARE READING
The Random Man With Random Thoughts
RandomThis is going to be completely random. There isn't going to be any filter on this so be warned now. Also there is not going to be a very clear story that goes with this.
