The darkness is sweeping in
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This is a story about suicide, so I recommended that you don't read it if that bothers you. Early in the story there is cutting, and in the end there is suicide. I wrote this as a creative piece of writing for English class, and I am wondering what people think of it? This does no belong to a fandom, but is just something from my messed up mind. Don't do suicide, think of who you are hurting. It is a selfish act, for those of you who are depressed, message me, I am here for you. Anyone is welcome to talk to me, and I will be open with them. Love you all!
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****ALL CREDIT TO THE PHOTOGRAPHER OF MY BOOK COVER**** The voices in my head tell me it's okay. They say I'm allowed to hurt myself. I'm allowed to create paintings on my skin with razor blades. These monsters in my head are my friends, not my enemies like people seem to think. I don't have a mental problem like my father seems to think. I'm not a freak like my brother thinks. And most importantly, I'm not dead. Why am I not dead? I deserve to die. I'm not worthy of the breath that fills my lungs. I should be dead. But I'm not. And there is only one reason why.
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