Rage envelopes me.
Like a blanket of barbed wire,
It drives me mad.
I want to throw things.
I want to stab.
To mutilate.
To Kill.
I stop myself.
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
I look at the pale flesh of my arms.
My sharp nails slide over the skin.
Pain.
Delicious pain.
Beautiful crimson blood wells up when I do the same with a blade.
I loose myself in the pain and soothing warm blood.
The scars the next day tell me I’m wrong.
Am I?
There’s no other way to let go of the rage.
Would you rather I hurt another?
Who are you to say what’s right and wrong?
You’re no better than I.
I’ll cut myself if I want to.
If I die?
Who cares?
I don’t.
What’s one less person?
One less mouth to feed.
One less back to cloth.
Maybe I should die.
It no longer matters.
The blood is already draining.
It’s my choice.
Life is no longer worth living.
Have fun cleaning up the mess.
I enjoyed making it.