Is it really that scary? No. Ive thought a few times. Whats my life worth living for? With a knife in my hand I held it up to my heart and cried. I felt the blood start to wet my shirt as I realized, My mom. My dad. My brothers. My sister. My cousins. My aunts, uncles, grandfathers, gandmothers. No. I dropped the knife screaming my lungs lifting. Almost flying right out of my lips. I screamed so loud I opened up and stood. Silence. I backed up and threw the knife at a wall. It went threw the drywall. I reefed it out of the wall. Behind my bed I etched help.
I always thought Id be defeated by something powerful. Not by sadness and immaturity. I dropped the knife to the ground and lunged at the wall putting every bit of energy into every bloody punch. My white walls were painted now. Painted red. I wasnt crying anymore. I walked over to my paint bucket beside the wall and started painting. My blood was spreading across the wall like when my heart was smashed and beaten to a pulp on the side of the road. When she said, "I love him."
YOU ARE READING
Random Self-Quarrells and arguments.
RandomRead it, don't read it, I don't care its only the voices inside my head.
