“…knives stained in crimson tears of mine/ blood i long to bleed/ scars multiplying down my arm/ anger that drives me to scream/ dark room/ devoid of life/ ‘cept this pitiful existence known as me/ night’s power and deception/ pain and loneliness i always need…”
I read the fresh-written words aloud to him and hear his breath catch. I know what he is thinking, [i]just another stupid bitch writting poetry about things she doesn’t undestand[/i]. He sighs and I almost laugh. He claims to love me but he’ll never know. I’ll never tell him that I’m ten times worse than his last girlfriend – he’ll find that out for himself.
He starts to lecture. He doesn’t want to hear this shit. How could I put him through this after everything that happened with [i]her[/i]? Why do I pretend to be like [i]her[/i]? Don’t I know it hurts him? I sigh. I get defensive. I try to explain. He gets upset. I get angry. I get cruel. I scream:
“Fine, you don’t want to hear it? Then you won’t! Goodbye!”
I hang up. I draw the blade and let it flash crimson one final time. I only hope he’s the one who finds my body. He’ll believe then.