R.I.P My Broken Heart
One more cut
I am curled up on my bed, shaking uncontrollably, clutching the duvet near to my small body.
I slowly get up, drop the duvet and run to the bathroom. I lock the door and lean against it, my head spinning. I'm so dizzy. Whenever I move quickly, I get nausa. Pete says it's because I'm anorexic but that's stupid.
I'm just skinny. Is that such a crime?
I sit on the edge of the bath, swing my legs round and lower myself into the tub. The cold of the ceramic shoots through the paper-frail skin of my legs and I draw my knees closer to my chest.
This is the normal for me. I wake up in the night, sit in the bath and.......
I take the razor and draw it across my wrists slowly. Relife floods through my body as quickly as the blood floods out. I feel fine. Happy, almost.
One more cut and I'm with you Frankie.
D'you remember,Frankie, when I was lying in the hospital bed and you were sitting next to me? You were hunched over, face pale, eyes red. I woke up and you gave me the biggest smile I'd ever seen. You stroked my scars and told me never to slit again and I promised not too.
But you would do the same, right Frankie?
If I was dead, you would slit and cry. You would write suicide notes and go to the top's of buildings and look over the edge. You would lock yourself in the bathroom and see your blood.
I played the piano at your funeral, Frankie, but I have hardly played since. I played My Immortal by Evanescence, even though you hated them. I sang too, and I meant every word.
The white ceramic is stained red, smears and splatters. My skin is stained too. It looks like I've murdered someone.
You were murdered, Frankie. I don't care whether they say it was a tragic accident, but you were murdered. Death without reason is murder, and you had no reason to die.
You were young,happy, beautiful.
You were mine.
And without you, I am worthless. I am nothing. I hate myself.
I get out of the bath and go over to the mirror. I look at myself and feel disgust.
Pale face.
Long black hair.
Blue eyes containing no remore.
I hit the mirror, as hard as I can, and it shatters. Seven years of bad luck, but the bad luck has already happened.
Seven years of bad life.
I sit on the floor with the pieces of mirror and put them back together, like a jigsaw. I dip my finger into my blood and write a message across the surface:
I WANT TO DIE
I curl up on the floor, and slip into a dreamless sleep. When I wake, it's only just light, making the room look silvery and magical.
I go back to my room and lie on my bed. I look at pictures of you, Frankie. I even find your leather jacket and cry into it.
One moe cut and I'm with you Frankie.
I slowly get up, drop the duvet and run to the bathroom. I lock the door and lean against it, my head spinning. I'm so dizzy. Whenever I move quickly, I get nausa. Pete says it's because I'm anorexic but that's stupid.
I'm just skinny. Is that such a crime?
I sit on the edge of the bath, swing my legs round and lower myself into the tub. The cold of the ceramic shoots through the paper-frail skin of my legs and I draw my knees closer to my chest.
This is the normal for me. I wake up in the night, sit in the bath and.......
I take the razor and draw it across my wrists slowly. Relife floods through my body as quickly as the blood floods out. I feel fine. Happy, almost.
One more cut and I'm with you Frankie.
D'you remember,Frankie, when I was lying in the hospital bed and you were sitting next to me? You were hunched over, face pale, eyes red. I woke up and you gave me the biggest smile I'd ever seen. You stroked my scars and told me never to slit again and I promised not too.
But you would do the same, right Frankie?
If I was dead, you would slit and cry. You would write suicide notes and go to the top's of buildings and look over the edge. You would lock yourself in the bathroom and see your blood.
I played the piano at your funeral, Frankie, but I have hardly played since. I played My Immortal by Evanescence, even though you hated them. I sang too, and I meant every word.
The white ceramic is stained red, smears and splatters. My skin is stained too. It looks like I've murdered someone.
You were murdered, Frankie. I don't care whether they say it was a tragic accident, but you were murdered. Death without reason is murder, and you had no reason to die.
You were young,happy, beautiful.
You were mine.
And without you, I am worthless. I am nothing. I hate myself.
I get out of the bath and go over to the mirror. I look at myself and feel disgust.
Pale face.
Long black hair.
Blue eyes containing no remore.
I hit the mirror, as hard as I can, and it shatters. Seven years of bad luck, but the bad luck has already happened.
Seven years of bad life.
I sit on the floor with the pieces of mirror and put them back together, like a jigsaw. I dip my finger into my blood and write a message across the surface:
I WANT TO DIE
I curl up on the floor, and slip into a dreamless sleep. When I wake, it's only just light, making the room look silvery and magical.
I go back to my room and lie on my bed. I look at pictures of you, Frankie. I even find your leather jacket and cry into it.
One moe cut and I'm with you Frankie.