All I can do is lay in bed and stare at the ceiling,
wishing you were still alive.
I stare at the ceiling with tears in my eyes,
clenching my fists and biting my tongue,
not letting the screams and sobs escape.
because if they do I don’t think they’ll ever stop.
I get my blade from under my mattress and cut so deep a river of red begins to flow heavily from my open wound.
the stinging pain on my thighs and wrists repeats day after day.
never stopping for anyone or anything