If Kisses Could Kill

I laid down in my bed, the light on though it was past midnight. Holding the purple diary in my hand, I carfully opened the book and flipped to the second entry. I noticed the tear stains before I started to read the slanted handwriting.

Dear Diary,

Words hurt, words hurt like my dad's fist.

Bitch.
Whore.
Slut.
Retard.
Stupid.
Idiot.
Faggot.
Meaningless.
Unwanted.
Unimportant.

They hurt so much more than Fuck you, because they have real meaning. They have the power pver you- the ones that make you want to just off roofs and feel the pain of a razor when you are going numb on the inside. It's what makes me cry at night and the fuel to my fathers fire. I wont kill myself. I just wont.

If I do, he's one. I want to make this clear and known- If I am dying it will not be my hands. If I kill myself he will have won and that... that is not an option. So, instead I'm going to write. Every time I want to kill myself, I'll write it down in here without stopping- then read it over.

Like today- I wanted to jump off the roof so bad. The feel the empty pit of air beneath me as I flew to the ground like a falling angel. I wanted to feel the heat as my bodies natural frictioc mixed with the momentum and air. To feel every bone hit concrete and break at the same time as my head splits open on the concrete. I wanted to have people realize what was going on with my life that made me jump. And I even knew my suicide note-

Their is a breaking point. When the strongest person has been worn down to much to continue- life is to painful and filled with darkness for you to see any light. And this, I knew would be less painful then continuing with life.

I know, It's pathetic- but with school and home, I.... I can't see the reason behind continuing this life besides... the fact I might wake up one day- and it was all a dream.

So, this is my pathetic excuse for life.

Enjoy.

~Dear Diary Please Protect My Secrets