Everything had to be perfect. I had to have a knife, music and band aids.
I pick up the knife and slowly pull up my sleeve so my wrist can be seen.
I cut my wrist slowly thinking of all the reasons I want to cut.
I think about everything anyone has ever told me. I try to stop but I can’t.
I lied to myself and I keep telling myself I can stop.
Cut, cut, cut, blood.
The blood slowly goes down my wrist and I cry.
I want to stop I really do. I close my eyes; I sit down on the floor thinking about all my thoughts in the dark bathroom.