Constellations

You stared at your smile in the mirror, soulless eyes stared back. Smiles were supposed to ease the pain, but the grin made your face hurt. You dropped it, instead looking closer at the shadows beneath your eyes.

Subtle to everyone but you, to you they stood out, they made you look even more sickly. But even without them you were paler than you should be, and always felt so nauseous. You wanted to throw up, but you never did.

You stepped back, enough to where you could see your naked body. You frowned at the sight of it, sickened at the mere thought of it. You were human, perfectly average and human. Nothing to look twice at, with flaws and unflattering traits.

But the fact it was you, that was your body, filled you with hatred. You wanted to break the mirror, you've never hated something more honestly. The raw unfiltered disgust at a mere glance at yourself should be concerning, but you didn't give a damn.

There were a lot of things to be concerned about. Like the scars that covered almost every inch of your body. Each scar was a constellation, beautiful and terrible , something you were proud of but hid. You were an artist, your body the tapestry.

A sick pride filled you at the sight of them, and somewhere deep inside you pitied yourself. You knew you were sick, but you learned by now nobody would cure you. You picked up your phone from the counter, glancing at the time.

Too late for most, but too early for you. You could sleep if you wanted to, yet the concept of waking up again in the morning was too much. You put the phone down and sighed, running a hand through your hair, feeling how dry it was.

Still you ran that bath. You washed yourself, maybe obsessively, never really feeling clean. The tub was full, you walked over to turn off the tap. The water steamed, far too hot to be safe, but you lowered yourself in with a sigh anyway.

It burned and you hoped your skin would fall off. You hated your skin, you itched and scratched and pulled it but it still stayed put. The water was so hot you couldn't breathe, lungs feeling compressed. You liked it that way.

You closed your eyes and breathed what air you could. You contemplated every way to die in a dreamy sort of way. Not really there, but not really anywhere else. Sometimes you forgot your name, and saying it felt weird.

You ducked your head underwater, till your lungs were screaming and you came up gasping. Panicked and scared, but glad that you suffered. You sat there till the water went cold, you didn't even notice. You weren't sleeping, just gone for a little while.

Your eyes were drawn to a particularly deep scar on your forearm. You scowled at it. You tried to kill yourself, bloody just how you like it. It didn't go fucking deep enough. The skin had parted and the blood poured out, but no matter how you tore at it the knife didn't make it.

And you wondered if you were meant to suffer forever, if someone out there enjoyed your pain. You supposed you did, you'd enjoy it more if there was an end. You were left the next day hiding the attempt, but never regretting it.

You glanced at you phone across the room, remembering the sweet things you said that never meant anything. 'You tried' they didn't try shit. 'I  love you' your not sure you ever did. 'I'm sorry' you didn't regret it now nor then.

A million lies in a message, payback for the lies they shoved down your throat. 'I'll be here for you' They never fucking were. You were left crying till your tears turned to dust and your sorrow turned to stone.

'You'll be okay' they can never know, how can they know? Too little, too late. Your heart yearns for them of course, you want them to cure you, help you, but they won't. Your too far away for them to reach. Your heart is withered and dead just like you want to be.

You unplug the drain, listening as the water runs away from you, just like everyone seems to these days. All you can talk about is your pain, your rather lame to be around now you know. All personality you had is gone like it was never there.

The last drop of water has drained and you feel as empty as the tub, maybe you'll fill it up with your blood next. You have no energy to get up, no energy to live. Oh, how you wished you died the first time.