My skin doesn\'t belong to me.
“You don\'t own it.”
“It\'s not yours”
A sack of flesh, full of fat and muscles.
Crimson blood, flooding through my veins.
Nails, picking away at the surface level.
“Scratch away!”
A razor blade, slicing patterns.
Diagonally, vertically, horizontally.
I amuse myself, thinking of making shapes with meaningless slashes.
Morbid carvings of a madman.
“A heart that you lack, perhaps?”
Red sap seeps out of my arm,
Prickling slowly, a thin stream of red.
My body weight weighs on me.
Cold is the floor.
I sit.
Puking.
“How disgusting you are”
I empty my stomach into the basin.
“How nauseating…”
The crimson is still leaking.
Dripping, staining the pristine white floor.
“Dirty vermin, even your blood is impure.”
I stain everything with my existence.
As always.
“As always, piece of shit.”
My knees, bruising from sitting in such a position for too long.
My body, aching,
Ears ringing.
The cold air relentlessly whips at my open cuts.
Washing it doesn\'t make it better.
It stings.
“It\'s better that way.”
“You don\'t deserve a peaceful day.”
Fabric brushes against them like sharp thorn bushes.
My skin turns pale.
I collapse onto the floor, limply waiting for death.
“Die already.”
I open my mouth for a breathless plead for help,
But nothing came out.
“You don\'t deserve it.”
My vision is blurring, spinning around.
The eye of the storm.
Silence.
I waited…
Waited for an eternity of nothingness to swallow me up.
In my dreams,
The wallowing abyss of the afterlife welcomes my m
angled corpse.
“Wake up, stop fantasizing-”
Lunatic.