Reawkened

The blade sliced through my skin and the blood formed in bubbles. I saw the red blood drip down my arm. I saw it in a way that would make others sick. I saw it's beauty. It's symbolism for my pain and suffering. Taking the razor blade once again I pressed it to my skin. Slowly I dragged it to the right, smiling slightly to myself as more bubbles formed. I heard steps so I hid the blade in my book. I laid down, putting my bleeding wrist beside my stomach and out of view, and made my breathing heavier as to appear asleep. Someone opened the door than a few seconds later closed it. I knew it was my mother. I sat up and looked down at my sheets. They were stained crimson.