I could not think of any other reasons to not do it. So I shut the door of the bathroom and let the shower water fill the tub. It covered my crying. I sat and cried for, what seemed like a long time. Then I stopped. I felt nothing, except the compulsion to slide the blade across my wrists. 'Just one, it won't make a difference' seemed to be the only thing that the voice said. So I did. I took the razor and slid it across my wrist, maybe a little too deep. But that did not stop me. I kept sliding them over and over my arms until they were bleeding. The light was fading. But the urge didn't stop. I felt every part of my body pulsing. I let go of the little hope that was left. The monsters in my head were asking for more blood, more scars. But I couldn't move myself to do it. Not a drop of tear was shed. I just sat there staring at nothing.
Here is a poem I wrote about it.
Her eyes were out of tears, so she let her wrist bleed.
She had to do it because, Her demons needed to feed.
Her vision was fading. She was losing hope.
Her throbbing body. Can no more cope.
Her eyes were red,
And tears none shed.
She was mentally dead,
Hence, her demons well-fed.
YOU ARE READING
Lost in the Darkness
SachbücherHave you ever felt so sad and numb that happiness seemed to be a stranger? Have you ever felt like a stranger, in your own body, your own life? Have you ever felt as lonely as the only person in a closed library even when you are in a place like Ta...
