Copyright, Clarissa

I tightly lock my door… walk over to the computer and sit down. I had a bad day so I reach for the knife taped under the desk… as I put it to my arm the tears fall slowly. I put pressure and cut deep into my flesh. Deeper than ever before. The blood drips slowly… there’s a knock at my door so I quickly pull my sleeve up and run to the door. After I sit back down I pull back my bloody sleeve. I can’t believe what I did. Again. I pick my knife back up and do it over and over again… the blood now falling faster than my tears. Watching myself in the mirror so ashamed of what I’m doing… I do it anyway though… Sometimes my friends ask about them. I lie and say something dumb. But they don’t go away! They’re always there… the knife is always there, and the blood and the tears are always falling. I do it because I’m lonely, I do it cause I’m hated, I do it because it makes things better.


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