Easter, April 17th, 2022

Yesterday, you see,

I did a thing.

I had a tremendously good day you see,

and that's what made it such an awful day.

The happiness would be fleeting, the cruelest kind of torture.

To give someone a scrap of their favorite food, one. last. time.

See, I felt "better" that day. Slightly happy.

It would go away and I would miss it with what they call, a burning passion.

That's why I did it.

It's why I ripped open my locket and took the blade out

-I had just unscrewed a new one-

and I sunk the blade into the flesh of my hips, and I watched for a moment, as nothing happened.

I have done this enough times for me to know that the red liquid is in shock, as it didn't expect to be woken. So it hesitates.

But it always comes. The blood always beads on my skin, and I always wipe it away and take care of the cut.

I treat it tenderly, as if it was a child.

I turn on my music and go read a book. My escape, you see.

And it occurs to me, I don't have to hurt myself anymore.

I could be happy.

I could... well... I'll do it.

I shove my face into a stuffed animal

-it was the length of my slashed hips up to my fucked up brain-

That day, yesterday, I tried to suffocate myself.

I tried to die that day.

Of course, my brain didn't let me and I had to gulp in air for my needy, spoiled lungs,

but that was my first try.

And I assure you.

There will be many more.