Lonely Blood

As I press the deathly sharp knife into my smooth fragile skin, I continue to think that if I bleed enough and carve the right words into my flesh that she will finally care for me; I want her to tell me that she loves me. When the black line of poisoned blood begins to form on my skin, I feel better, for the physical pain is muffling the thick sorrow that engulfs my very being, yet the pain of loving someone that despises me is still so intense.

I thought that she did love me, but I was wrong; furthermore, the knowing of how wrong I was stabs and rips at my already gouged and bloody heart. After she decided that she no longer loved me, she told me with such coldness in her haunting voice that she wanted nothing but to be alone and wouldn’t care if I was slain right before her very eyes. The memory of her hard evil words are what forces me to open my wounds once more. Maybe if I cut myself deeper she will notice how much I yearn for her; I will drown in the blood that I bleed and boil in my tears…
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