Sad imagines

Pure

I want to be pure, but I am not. It hurts to know that everything you do will never be enough. Work sucks. It's a dead end job. Every breath I take reminds me that I am alive in this hell we call Earth. I don't want to be sad. I want to be successful. Is that too much to ask? Maybe. But I just want to be happy.

I want to be pure. Coming home from work is a slight relief. Or at least I get a little relief. I am always reminded that I am not pure. Whenever I look in the mirror. Whenever I go to sleep. Whenever I wake up. So I decided to get rid of that impure part of me. I stumble to the bathroom. Looking through the cabinet I find just what I need.

I will finally be pure. "You are not pure." I mumble. "You are not pure." I say louder this time. "You are not pure!" I scream. Tears flowing freely down my face. I make the first cut to my wrist. Ever so lightly just to tease myself. I make the second one deeper, seeing little red drops forming. Finally, I cut as deep as I can.

I am becoming pure. The blood flowing out of my arm is a beautiful sight. It shows that I am starting to become pure. The bad blood is leaving my body. But the bad blood is coursing throughout my whole body. I need to get rid of it all. I raise the blade it a bit higher. To my elbow. I make a small cut but It's not good enough. I raise it to my neck.

Finally. I twist the blade in my fingers for a few minutes. Deciding whether I should do it in one quick motion or slowly. I finally decide I should let myself suffer a bit longer. I make a few small cuts at the base of my neck. The crimson dots are a real relief. I can't wait to end it. To get rid of the impure blood. Raising the blade a bit higher and with a quiet mutter of "You are not pure,"I make the final motion to rid myself of the bad blood.

                                                                                    Finally, I am pure.