I Can Hear Your Voice

☁︎ o n e d a y ☁︎

Over the sound of the shower faucet, the sound of crying and sobs rung inside the small bathroom.

His salty tears that ran down his face never stopped, and they ran as freely as the blood flowing from his wrists did.

"I hate you." he whispered inaudibly, sliding the smooth blood stained metal into his wrists again. "I hate you." again.

"I hate you."

"I hate you."

"I hate you."

"I hate you."

"I hate you!" he screamed loudly, ignoring the pain flaring from his mangled wrist and turned his attention to the other wrist. The aching hole gnawed inside his chest, expanding every time he took a breath. Every time he took a breath it was that much harder to breath, the emptiness gripping his lungs like a vice.

"Why is it like this?"

"It's my fault."

"He doesn't like me."

Cut.

"A fake like me."

Cut.

"A murderer like me."

Cut.

"A monster like me."

Cut.

"He likes you." he bellowed, hate running thickly through his veins.

"Someone happy and innocent like you."

"Someone who can laugh like you."

"Someone who can smile like you."

"Not a defect like me." he sobbed as his voice cracked uncontrollably, his weak legs dropping to the floor of the bathtub floor, dyed red. He choked on his tears, trying to beat back the monster seething in his mind.

"Stop." he croaked.

"Stop."

"Stop it." he growled.

"Stop healing, goddamit!" he yelled at his healing wrists and felt his control slipping as the seconds tick away. The seconds ticked away but it didn't take long to see two smooth pale arms. He stared with watery rage-filled eyes and laughed a self-deprecating laugh as he asked himself;

"So, how deep can you heal?"