random extracts from my notes

moving on.

CW: SELF HARM, KNIFES

hear I am, lying on the cold hardwood floor of my kitchen

with a knife in my right hand and bloody slits on my left.

the crimson seeping into the cracks of my floor seems like art. tragic

I should have painted the walls this colour, it would have been lovely.

they didn't lie when they said your life flashes before your eyes.

memories of your smile the night we snuck out

or your gentle breaths through the phones speaker from our late night calls

they all came flooding back, flooding just like the sweet ruby that coats the sharp blade clutched in my fist.

this isn't your fault.

its simply a way of me giving up on the idea of you

and the idea of us working out.

because you wont love me, not like how you did before

I think that's a good thing

maybe this is some tragedy that no one saw coming

or maybe its me finally moving on

just like how you moved on from me