Me. Me. Me. It's all I seem to care about. Constantly. Why do I only ever care about myself? About me. Always me. Never you, never him, never her. Always me. How do I change? Is it even possible? Hands shaking, wrists bleeding, I contemplate me. Again. Me. I can never focus on anything else. Things will be better like this. They wont have to deal with me. See? Me again. Always. Fucking. Me. I cant change. I've never been able to, and so I deserve this. The pain, the nausea, the death. I deserve it all. The blood is comforting. Its deserved. Its needed. The darkening vision, the fading thoughts, the collapse, it's all comforting. My breath? My breath is horrific. My breath is awful. My breath is unneeded, undeserved, unjust. The voices told me so. And so this is needed. The voices, they tell me this is ok, that I want this. And I believe them.
They were right.
Death does feel good.
YOU ARE READING
I
RandomProbably wont add more to this but I might. Sort of a vent piece about my narcissistic nature turned into a short segment of writing.
