Sentences formed into the handle pressed against her palm. Words grew the sharpened blade that shimmers in the night. Anxiety and panic rose through her chest as she pressed the blade against her own flesh. Giving the sweetest and softest shudder as she pushed down harder and then yanked her hand one way. She wasn't experienced in inflicting pain for release. But, she did know that causing such bleeding slices and watching the crimson color leak down her thigh made her breathe relaxation.
She has hurt herself.
So she will not hurt others. She has hurt herself. So she cannot explode in grief and worry. She has hurt herself. And so no pain comes to those closest around her.
No vile comments can flow from her lips.
No boiling hatred can bubble over her sides.
No horrible thoughts or wants of simply crying come into play as she now stands there.
A facial expression of pleasure dawned across her face as if it were jewelry. A blade that cut the smallest slits enchanting her hand. Only to fall to the floor as her head tilted downwards and her beautifully colored eyes held on to the image of the self harm she just inflicted. The silence that would suddenly overwhelm her was so deafening that one could've heard the plastic handle blade hit the floor and seem to ripple in sound.
This is where self hatred walked out on stage with a solo fitted for the opera. This is where absolute loathing of ones body came to the playing field. This.... Is where her self conscious side threw a hat into the ring. All three of these things were betting higher and higher on which of them would win. Smirking, the three looked upon a television screen. Eyeing the shaky young figure. Watching tears stained in black eyeliner drip down the young girls face. Sniffling heavily as she became almost zombie like.
An apocalypse of emotions had taken hold of her world and controlled every move. Even the move that caused her to gently kneel down and pick up the blade. Where she looked at the skin cells that decorated the silver metal. She wondered if such a small blade could truly cause damage if she pressed hard enough. And so... wondering what results would yield. She lifted the blade to her neck and pressed it an inch below her pulse. Looking at herself in the mirror was the hardest part. Mainly because it formed that little voice of pity in the back of her head.
"Your parents don't have the money to pay for your funeral. That's the only reason you have to live. You'll only cause harm to your family."
The blade fell from her skin and landed on the ground as the girl fell darker into her self wallowing.
Never to be seen again.
YOU ARE READING
A Girl's Collection
PoetryThis book isn't a story. This is in fact a collection poems that I have written myself. These are all different pieces that I have created over the course of years and I wanted to share them with you all. Many poems are deep and sad. Making many vie...
