A/N: can you not tell I'm depressed? ._. I can assure you, I don't cut, though. Only a mental blade
The blade is positioned
It glints in the sun
It’s angry sharp edge against soft, pale, skin
This is my punishment
She loves me
She loves me not
Probably the latter
For who could possibly love
Someone who will only abuse them?
I’ve heard those words before
And I know very well what they mean
I scream to the heavens
I’m sorry.
This is my fault.
I broke her heart.
This is my punishment
I drive the blade deep into my porcelain wrist
Hissed as my innocence was torn apart
My soul dripping onto the tile beneath
The world began spinning
As I started to collapse
The last words I muttered on my tongue
I love you.
This is my punishment.
