Breathe Me

Help, I have done it again
I have been here many times before
hurt myself again today
and the worst part is 
theres no one else to blame


That moment when you are sitting in the bathroom, knife in hand, you don't go back.  Soon, the scars on your left arm are no longer white lines.  The ladder is interrupted by little red lines, slowly expanding by the minute.

I told my friends that I tripped and fell on the sidewalk.  They haven't seen the actual cuts because I have them wrapped up, but I think my friend A was a bit suspicious.  Whatever, they don't know about my past, I can feed them the lies for now.  A knows about my ED, but I think he's too scared to say anything about it.  I'm afraid that if they find out about my history of depression and suicidal tendencies and cutting they will run away, thinking I'm some sort of disease that can be caught.  I'm contagious.

I'm so sad that I can't even cry.  It's the kind of sad that seeps into your bones, weighing you down and dragging you to the ground.  The corners of your mouth have hooks in them, so every smile quivers with the pain and effort.

Hello again, darkness.