Talking to yourself in the mirror is more of a religious experience than getting on your knees and whimpering to the sky.
Today, 6:36 am, I got up and said "Good morning, Green Eyes, let's forget."
Getting home, 2:36, I wiped the blood from my front teeth and said "Good going *****, crying in class? What are you made of?" Sticks and stones, I thought. Sticks and stones.
A droning sound.
A year ago, you swallowed pills and opened your thighs, air crawling into places that air should never have the privilege (read: incredible misfortune) of touching, holding. I laid in bed, shined a laser pointer at my door for hours with "Goodbye Cruel World" on rickety repeat.
Goodbye cruel world, I'm leaving you today. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
A year ago, you took pictures of your snapped veins, wishbone fingers still gripping a razor, you smiling. I threw up.
Goodbye all you people.
My friend is going through what I did, caring. Caring a lot. Caring into the school guidance department and caring into crying the whole day. Caring until she can't sleep. Caring until the morning to repeat the cycle. Caring, slowly bleeding out/dying/wishing you were God, same thing.
There's nothing you can say.
I feel bad, I feel bad that your wrist split open. I want to butterfly stitch it for you, hold you, brush your hair back, and back, and back.
To make me change my mind.
What's the point in killing yourself anyway? Right. So I'll do it for you.
*Goodbye.