Short story-
I walk down the walkway, with my head down and shoulders low. When I look up I see everyone glaring my way, so I pull up a seat and promptly lie my head on the table not caring if my hair gets screwed up (like its not already?) and my makeup either.
When I look at someone they look back with a blank expression as if it hides what they feel towards me. My own mother even. No father, he is long gone.
I walk to school by myself. Wearing my schoolgirl dresses, all stars, straightened hair, dark makeup. I'm an outsider. Don't talk much cus I know nobody'll care.
I sit in my bathroom staring, staring, staring at what I did. Is this what I want? It fills my eyes until I can't take it and clean up.
That was yesterday. Today I'm ratting my hair, wearing skinny jeans (black size:0 (although I don't feel that small)) all stars, red plaid shirt, with heavy ,but less than yesterday, makeup.
Same routine, except today's episode puts me outside where nobody can see them run down my cheek at lunch.
I go home to find my mom drunk passed out on the floor (drunken whore).
I throw my books on the bed and start my shower. I wait till its warm enough to get in. I wash yesterday's extreme pain and today's pain away.
When I get out I decide its time. Or maybe.
I walk to the dresser drawer and reach behind everything till I find it. It taunts me every night. It beckons me to use it.
I close the bedroom door and pull down the blinds.
Sitting on my bed with it in hand I think carefully.
Will anyone ever understand? Will they ever know how much pain I was in? Will they ever know anything? How about the useless hours I used trying to cut every perfect detail into me so they'd like me?
I guess not...
BANG!!
I lie there lifelessly, with the hundreds of scars on my wrists. Every imperfection. That's what I died to tell from the grave.
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