Edit April 18th 2019: Hi so, I think I had forgotten to add a trigger warning when reviewing this again hAHA *nervous sweats* so fuck. uh, pretty dark and depressing shit if I do say so myself, and very very triggering. uh, suicidal thoughts and a lot of self harm and blood. and i see you eyeing the word "vent" on the title, and i regret to inform that this is, in fact... something that i have done and very much want to do again. read only if you dare, I'm not messing around with this trigger warning.
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I look at my complexion in the mirror, finding nothing more different then my ugly body. Sure, I might be pretty to some, eye candy even, but I couldn't understand it. I guess I never could, huh?
Looking at the knife, this felt awfully nostalgic. It was... scary. That also two days away from two months from today, I'd have the same thoughts, in a room awfully like where I had these fantasies. The same wondering of what would happen if I died.
Awfully nostalgic, too, considering the circumstances before this.
Picking up the knife, I felt surreal. This didn't really actually happen, did it? Even if my bones started feeling sore from stratches and bleeding, I felt detached from myself entirely. I really was a piece of shit, wasn't I?
Made me wonder.
Wonder what would happen if I made a cut. Then another. Then another.
My eyes soon unfocused as I continued hurting myself, if it could even be called that. It barely felt like pain now. But I knew I was just calling for attention, cutting myself, hurting but hiding it, doing it in places where the world wouldn't see... Haha. Why do I do this to myself?
When my marrow started spilling more then normal, I paused, looking at my naked figure. I saw my ribcage, my spine, my sternum, my pelvis and my femurs, then looked at the knife covered in marrow. I frowned a little, seeing many cuts, most of which I didn't notice before. This wasn't helpful anymore... I threw the knife off to the side, a trail of my blood coating the flooring where the edge of the knife made contact with it. It was almost fruitless to continue, I guess, but something inside me wanted to continue. Old habits, perhaps.
Nobody was aware of this happening, I hope. I did make sure not to have it shown, considering my arms were always clean of marks, usually... Selfish, isn't it?
I could feel tears fall from my eyesockets and I couldn't help but loathe them. Ah yes, always act like the victim when you've had too much of a good life to complain. Instantly I was panged with the impulse to continue, and I quickly went over to the knife and gave myself a rather deep wound against one of my ribs. And another. Then another. Tears flowed freely even as i held them back. I just had to be so weak to stoop so low as to cry, heh. Why was I such a screw-up? I guess perhaps it was because I did this to myself and wanted out. But I'd never be out. Forever stuck in this hellhole.
But was it hell? I already felt dead. Or maybe I was dying. I didn't know anymore. I didn't care.
I shouldn't care. But I still did. Fucking emo now, cutting and crying and being all sad. Hahahahahaha...
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Originally thought with Dream, but wrote as Error, you can choose who from the DS cast this includes.
