Sometimes I ask why I done it-to be honest with you, I don't know. I can't explain the wonderful feeling as a blade glides across my skin, and the release of sadness that pumps out as the blood stains my pale skin and overflows- spattering the floor with a thick crimson mixture.

I guess it all started on Monday. As a friend shouted and took her frustration on me as I mealy stood there and closed my eyes to bear the pain as she shouted how I had ruined it all for her. When the bell rung I escaped and I knew what to do. I sat in my Religious studies class, pulled my shirt sleeve up and attacked my flesh with the blade. I hardly felt it so I pushed down harder and swiped quicker. I looked at my arm as blood oozed out and stained my shirt slightly. I felt guilty but thought nothing of it.....until....until I saw him.

I remember those deep hazel eyes staring into mine as I sobbed on another friends shoulder. She understood the story but he did not, He did not let me explain the pain I felt inside. He concentrated on his own feelings whilst blocking out my own. He pushes me away as soon as my life crashes and burns.....When I did try to let him comfit me he pushed harder.....he pushed me away from his life.

Then Friday came and I saw him. He started asking me what had he done but all I could do was to look at the floor and mutter that I was sorry.

So I here I am waiting for them to find me. I guess it won’t come as a shock and I doubt anyone will mourn my body because while I lie here no one will worry where I am and he will continue his life because my only friend now is the knife in my hand.