Its amazing what you can do with a tool of your choice. alone. depressed. your hair sticks to your face from the moisture of your eyes that tells everyone that you've been crying. and the cracked mirror infront of you from when you punched your reflection but unfortunatly it was still there so all you got out of it what a bloody fist. but you were ok with that because the pain was soothing and relaxed your brain so that you only had to focus on not getting blood on your thin white shirt that was pressed against your stomach. its times like these where all you want to do is scream at yourself and ask why your so damn phuked up and again the response is pressing a xacto knife against your skin, pretending that you'll stop after this last time but you know that thats not true so you press down harder. your little brother walks in on you and screams then runs to get mom so she can call 911 and hope that she's not too late. Little sister is crying along with your dad as they take you away to make you 'Better' but the fact that they cant help lingers in your head but eventually you fall asleep or maybe you just blacked out from the needle they just stuck in your arm. later on you wake up with a headache and notice your in a room thats nothing but white. soon after the fact that you begin to think straight, you realize you're back in hell.
Its just one of those days.
Its just one of those days.
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