It All Comes Down To This

One closed room…one razorblade…one girl who just wants to feel and is willing to go over the edge… I have always loved the sight of blood. Like the way it felt and liked the different ways I could produce it…being whole isn’t always the best. Especially when you are leaking out nothing but the feelings produced and wanted. I want myself to be leaking out without any possible way to be saved. I am alone…have been for awhile. I wanted just a limited amount of “alone”. Now the amount I have is unlimited…I don’t care…why the heck should I? nobody cares… Words are like razorblades. They cut into you deep and leave you scarred…but one’s just invisible…emotional…and the other is what makes you remember it with many detailed visuals…physically… I am not alone..for I am walking along these dark, shallow, cold streets in the hands of death…for he knows me and accepts me for who I am, what I do, and to whom I have hurt (nothing new)…he leads me into this place which holds silent screams/cries…and the puddle of blood (fresh) on the floor, thoughts went through my head…I am here…I am home Death is my friend…my guide..he leads me into the place of every persons dreams/wishes…he isn’t as bad as they say…he grabbed my hand…stopped the blood from leaking out of my forearm…and wrists…he invited me to a place where I can bleed all eternity without being stopped… At least he understands me and wants to help…