I am so close to stabbing myself with my most expensive pen. I want to jump off a building. I want to shoot myself in the head. I want anything quick that could get me out of here. Out of my skin. Out of here. Out of here. I want to tell my fucking head to shut up. I want to tell my fucking heart to stop feeling. Shut up, shut up. Shut the fuck
Sometimes when I’m home alone, I like to stand bare by the Window, and the house lights are off, the sidewalk lights are off – and the moon is shining bright. I don’t think you’d ever feel lonely in such a moment. But maybe a little restless.
It’s come to a point where sleep doesn’t even solve anything. I dread falling asleep thinking of waking up later and feeling the exact same way. Sleep does nothing for me. Being awake does nothing for me. I want an escape. Something more permanent. I do not want to think. I do not want to feel. I do not want anything. I just want to end it all.
There are days like this. When I can barely stand to be with myself. My own thoughts haunt me, scare me, and I have the courage to kill them. Kill it. Dark days. Here we go again.
Don’t you even dare. You have lost me long before I was gone. I have been empty years ago. Don’t even cry. You have never had me when I was never here. I was never meant to be here.
Some are willing to be thrown into hellfire for a person. Some are willing to be thrown in for the act.
A scar on my wrist. A scar on my neck. One from the blade of my knife. One from the blade of your lips. I stared at each, both caused by you, preferring one over the other. Like you need to guess which.