Daisy Moo


Copyright, Daisy Moo

Here I am, this is me, a girl, 17, ugly, my wrists look so inviting, so juicy, the blade snapped fresh from the razor, so shiny, so fresh, so new, I wave it across my wrists a few times to see it shine, before I cover it with my blood, just the word, blood, sounds so nice, then comes the cut, the first one not too deep, just half way through the vein, then another, and another, and another until all I can see is a blood red mask, covering my whole arm, god it looks so brilliant, the pain is bad, but it feels so fresh, my whole body is released, my mind feels so free, but is still full of all the bad thoughts, I push the blade into my palm, squeesing it so hard, I feel the blade letting all my blood free, it is so good, the blood flows out onto the floor, I see it, a big pool soaking in, it has freed me, the drips of my tears fall, mix with my blood, I love the feeling, I squeeze my arm, letting every last bit of blood out. Now I put the blade in my draw for next time — for tomorrow, I clean up my arm, cover it with a top, and go back to normality, but my normality is blood, and I love normality.


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