I am Cut

My sorrow trickles down my arm in crimson tears. The wound is but a red-tinted window hiding my pain. My body is but a lockbox of misery and the key just happens to be in the shape of a razor.

The carpet laps my blood thirstily. How I wish it would take the pain away as well. The doctor said I could get better. Lies. Never heard of anyone who found happiness from a pill.

I am already one foot out the door, the other remains inside a casket that my parents prefer to call “home”.  Another set of lies. This is home is more broken than me. My parents scream even louder than the demons caged inside my head.

There is no way to mend a bullet wound with a bandaid and there is no miracle cure that would ever take my pain away. Only death.

A sheet of red envelopes my skin, shrouding the emptiness within, and I am slowly swallowed by an ethereal cold. In the darkness, I savor the solitude and the serenity.

Then someone calls my name. I resist at first but I seek the source of the voice.

Shadows jerk me back into consciousness. They envelope me with warmth. My cheeks are cupped by wet hands and when I look up I saw my parents.

Apologies escapes their lips as their teary eyes looks into mine. 

That’s when I knew they can finally see into me, the fragile soul created by the chaos.