"You don't know anything," "Stop being so selfish." "Crying doesn't solve anything." "What about me? I'm not complaining." Help. Help. Please. " NOBODY FUCKING CARES ABOUT YOU!"
I panted softly. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't breathe. I don't want this. "Somebody help me," I mumbled. I gasped for air, the feeling of drowning slowly overtaking me. I picked up my pen once more and began to write.
"I took out my meal, ready to eat.
A wolf stands there, staring at me
I know the dangers, but his grey eyes entrance me.
I know if I feed him, he'll come back.
But his eyes.
His stormy eyes.
The way he asks me silently, with nothing but his stormy grey eyes.
So I feed him.
And I leave.
But I walk that same path the next day, another lunch in my hand.
He's there again.
I'm scared.
I'm scared, but I feed him.
He keeps coming back, no matter how hard I try to stop.
Holding the sandwich scares me now.
Walking on that path scares me now.
But the joy of seeing that wolf eating
Satisfies me to no end.
Is it controlling me?
Maybe.
He keeps coming back for more.
I can't stop him.
My hunger grows even still.
I feed him even If I don't have anything.
I feed him even If I don't see him.
I'm hungry.
But I feed him.
Now, even if I so much look at my food,
He comes.
And I must feed him.
So I feed him again"
I smile. The ink in my pen flowed so smoothly down the paper. I keep the pen still, watching a black puddle form. The shining nib, bright like silver, glowing and sharp ...I stand, picking up my knife. Ah...I've been so bad. I traced the shining blade with my finger, a red droplet on my finger. Slice. Slice. My red blood flowed down my arms, coating them in deep scarlet. How beautiful. "Nobody cares, huh? If they did, they'd be helping you. How sad." I scream. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. My screaming rings out louder. I calm down, my eyes dull. The walls were closing in on me, but there was too much room around me, nowhere to hide and curl up, no place to grasp my bearings. I was falling eternally in a cage, drowning. If I tried to stand, I'd only fall farther. I look up at the world around me. My hair flowing neatly around my shoulders, slightly tainted red. My dull eyes focused on the floor as I put my knife away. Wrapping my bandages, I looked once more at my poem. A small, red droplet of my blood had stained the paper, the iron scent coating the room.
I begin to cry. "Somebody... anybody... please save me." And then it came, the last breath I ever wished to breathe. And yet I woke again, awake. Alive. Still, in the room, I had been writing in. Time reversed 'till pen was still in hand. But this time, I wanted it. Not only a death that I brought upon myself but that sweet, lovely freedom that came by a blade. Acceptance flowed through my veins as I held it, that glowing, shining-steel knife. That darling, sweet freedom... how I yearned for it. I raised my blade, holding its tip against me. I dove it into my chest, the world seemed like a dream. I saw someone finding my body, my corpse in an eternal smile as I held the knife. And I woke again, still holding a pen. I grasped a rope. In that dream, nobody cared. So I hung. Once, I made a friend. That path ended with me being murdered. Somehow, nobody came even then. So I kept killing myself. Giving myself a sweet, warm feeling every time I met my end. This cycle went on for thousands of times. Why did I keep attempting? Was it for the sweet release of death? Was it for soft freedom? And why did I give up? Was it for my strange belief that nobody cared? Or my subconscious thoughts that I wanted to be accepted? I swallowed hard, a voice returning to me.
"We, as humans, are bound to Life. We have created rules and things we must follow. We imprisoned ourselves by the necessity to fit in, to belong, to be ruled and controlled. And we believe Life is fleeting, yet it binds us. We fear death, but it Frees us! What are 'heroes', 'villains'? 'Right' and 'Wrong'? It is nothing but a fake image we humans created to chain ourselves to the ground! And yet we believe. And delude ourselves into thinking we 'belong'. Is it those who defy rules, are they the ones who have true freedom? To those who have no place, no one to confide in, are they truly prisoners of life?! What is freedom? That's just it. It's an idea we created to delude ourselves into believing we're happy! So what is joy? It's a lie. A lie we created."
Shivering, I glanced around. The knife that had taken my life so many times before was perfectly clean, without a single blemish staining its blade. I wanted freedom, yet it would not be granted to me. I was forced to keep living, to keep breathing, despite all I had wished against.
That droning voice, once terrifying, now calming me from the nightmare I brought upon myself, filled my mind as I thought. The pain was an illusion, as was the mere concept of joy. I did not feel pain, nor joy. My senses, dulled by the blade I had brought myself on, had not acted since I woke again. That empty void that was the future, should I continue? Or keep cycling in the darkness that was the embrace of death? I knew my answer. I knew that my patience would be tested either way. So once again, I chased that sweet, fleeting relief, for this world had no control, yet I could manipulate my being.
And carved the blade into my flesh.
