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Angel of Death

Untitled

Copyright Angel of Death

I enjoy cutting and I need to stop, but I can’t, it’s too hard to do. I think it’s pointless. It became my friend. The only one I can depend on. Since my so called friends keep turning on me. I truly hate my life and I hate me. I always fuck every thing up. Most of the time I should just keep my mouth shut because now I pretty much lost my home. Well I really wouldn’t call that place a home. I never will. I’m not too sure were I’ll end up, but oh well. Which really sucks. I’m about to lose the only thing that keeps me here, My friends, not all of them. I’m surprised I haven’t killed myself yet. I have tried, but as you can see it didn’t work since I’m writing this. I don’t have a point to live a life that I hate. When I have nothing to cut with I use anything I can find. People call me stupid for doing that, but I’m sure I’m not the only one. I hate when people copy off me and start cutting. It’s stupid. They should start for another reason. I hate myself so much that I hate to wake up every day. I haven’t been happy for years and no one noticed. My so-called parents have never noticed the cuts and all the scars. They never noticed that I didn’t eat and the pills that were missing I took. They never knew it was me. They hate me, but won’t say it. I wish they would then I would leave. They never wanted me in the first place, but won’t let me leave. So I’m like at the end of my road and I so badly want to die. Nothing ever changes, it just gets worse. I wish I was happy like I used to be, but I doubt I will be. I wish I had someone to talk to, but I don’t, I never do.

Untitled

Copyright Angel of Death

I have been cutting for about five years. No one ever asked me to quit until now. Truthfully I don’t want to. For years my blade became my only friend. The only friend I could depend on. The only friend that was ever there for me when I needed them the most. Which is really fucking sad to say. The friends I have now keep turning on me. Every time that happens I always go back to the blade and pills and I keep on thinking that death is the best way to make everything better. The fact that I’m only fourteen isn’t to good, but oh well. Life sucks, death is better. I need help, but I’m not too sure how to do it without making my life more of hell than it is. Until then I’m on my own. Oh well, who cares?

 

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