just stoned
it was dripping from the hole in her stomache. an unusual place for a cut to be, but also not a very noticable stop. he arm's would be too noticable. she lay on the floor on her back, holding a paper towel on her stomache, looking up at the stars. they weren't real stars just the ones they stuck to her ceiling, the ones that glowed in the dark. down stars she could hearher family laughing, having a grand old time, one that she rarely got to experience. she felt left out, of all of it. like they hated her. they really didn't have a reason not to, she was a bad person but they should've loved her anyway, they were blood, all the same, one family. but she deserved it and sh knew it. it just hurt so much and felt deserted. this is why she was lying there. but she's done this once before they physical feelings could take over, make it all melt away. maybe she would pass out and wake up tomorrow feeling better. tomorrow was a different day, things would better, hopefully. music was playing in the backround, just low enough for only her to hear but to her it was deafening, taking all the sounds away from just words and music, rythem. she closed her eyes and fell asleep. she didn't wake up, not this time. the cut on her stomache wasn't deep enough for this. before she drifted to sleep she took the razor in her hand and slit each wrist, not even thinking of the pain, she was already numb, just sliced, it didn't matter how deep. the blood pored like wine from a bottle, blood from a vein. she dreamed before she passed thoughs ice, glazey gate. she was never upset, never lonely. the entrance to her hell was those ice, glazey hell, it wasn't even ten degress there. it was the freeze of a sin from beliefe in a false hope in religion. one dream was one moment of happiness, that she felt for that one moment before death. the next day her brother found, found her dead found her a note "i'm not crying wolf..." said scribbled in blood "i'm really dead this time."