| you_can't_ask_directions | ||
| mytwohands |
in my bag is a bottle of vicodin a bottle of sleeping pills, a bottle of cough syrup, and four razor blades. ive been making little slices all day and staring at all the things i consider to have any toxicity, but i guess im as weak as i thought. now all i have is an array of cuts on my left wrist, covered by strings of gold beads and dried blood. my face is red and swollen-- i finally remembered how to cry. and i think of my family, and the room i am locked in, and the people who surround me and i cry because i want to leave them and i cry because i can't and i cry because they won't let me. if they loved me, they'd say, that they know dying would make me happy, and that they wouldn't blame me for being so selfish. but what they don't see is by making me stay they are being selfish too. |
050531 |