Five, Four, Three, Two, One.
My pink, almost velvet pajamas that I haven’t washed in two weeks.
My different-shaded blue comb that I’ve used to scratch my wrists.
My dirty clothes from the past two weeks.
My trash can that hasn’t been taken out in two weeks.
My lotions sitting in the sink that hasn’t been used in two weeks.
My own tears falling down my cheeks.
My soon-to-be invisible scars on my wrists.
My wound on my right leg from scratching it.
My heart breaking out from my rib cage.
My cries and hyperventilating coming from my eyes and mouth.
My blue comb scratching my inner wrists.
My nails digging into my left leg.
My washed hair from doing a slick-back for four days so no one would see the empty patches.
My toothpaste sitting on the sink.
The salty taste from my tears falling down onto the floor.
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