i did it

i cut

i might've broken a knuckle

both wrists burn and sting

one will scar

a thick line of misery

a pale mark of the me that comes and goes (but hates to stay)

a memory of the pain

and my sick smile at the incision

the success

the lick of blood on my tongue

the vulnerability of another's discovery

but most of all


you caused this

i never believed you would /truly/ give up on me

but you did

you said you were going to be /"evil"/

you were so twisted you said it "wasn't worth

it that" i "was giving up on something so stupid"

when it was you who just gave up

it was childish

i knew you were already in a bad mood

from whatever was happening at the time

but it cut deeper than my knife

you were practically /laughing/ in my face

with those final words

i cried my eyes out

and damaged myself

and then i quickly

put on the mask (and wrist bands)

was cheerful but a little sick

and still felt the tug of the


the questioning

really? why am /i/ doing this?

i damaged God's masterpiece

his temple

he probably cried more than i did

but somehow i still feel accomplishment

aside from my apology to Him

because if you ever came back

which i actually half-doubt this time

i could maybe…

show you the scars

tell you what i did

pour out how much it meant to me

how much /you/ mean to me

and how much i hate myself at "those times"

my stupidity

how i don't trust people

because how much lying i live through

and /have/ lived through forever

and maybe you'll feel bad

or think it's silly

because in the latter case, i could explain that

the story we went through was a mixture of

the real me

it /was/ me

it /was/ me, /is/ me

and what a shame you have to discover it like this