Depression *****.
Am I right? Or am I right.
I can't speak.
I don't want to say anything
I want a hug and I want affection and I want attention.
But I also just want to escape and not think about anything.
Sometimes it's hard to escape with them around.

They keep me grounded when I start to get lost,
But once I'm lost they can only hope I find a way back.
They are so important to me,
But sometimes their feelings about me are hard to see.

I wish I could apologize
I wish I really knew what was happening
I wish I understood this blood-******* Demon in my head.

It's hard to talk about really.
TBH I'm just depressed.
I'm known as "that" kid, ya know?
The one with the depressing poetry and stuff.
And yeah they are just joking when they say things like
"You can't write happy things."
But it doesn't help.
Well it doesn't help me.
But my blood-******* Demon appreciates your comment about my writing.

I say he's blood-*******, but I should say blood-letting.
That's one of the things he enjoys doing with me.
"Go on Alec. Pick out a sad song. Something bittersweet should be nice. If it makes you feel guilty while urging you to continue then it's perfect."
But . . . I'm not really up to it today.
"That's okay, because your body thinks differently. Laptop has pulled up a song, door is shut tight, you've opened your Nightmare Before Christmas coffin. Go in Alec. Continue."

Do I have a choice?
I wonder what would happen if I stopped now.
If I left it all here
And went to them
Or to talk to them.
If not them, then someone.
But alas, I leave for no one.

I move the paper I signed over a year ago.
"Do you promise to use alternative methods instead of hurting yourself?"
I signed it.
I thought it would help.
But the only thing it's good for is hiding my tool.

I reach down and grasp the razor.
I **** my breath through my teeth.
This is gonna hurt.
It's from a pencil sharpener.
They are so easy to take apart.
And so convenient for my blood-*******/letting Demon.
He loves them.
I'm not sure if i love or hate them.

The melody has already begun.
The ritual has started.
I can't stop anything now.
Nothing short of someone bursting into my room to ****** it out of my hand would stop me.
But that won't happen
So i speculate for nothing.
I waver for just a moment.
I want blood, but do i want pain anymore?

It doesn't matter.
He wouldn't let me leave.
He just loves taking over my brain.
He says everyone hates me.
Family, friends, and worst of all them.
I can't disagree.
So i take the razor.
I angle it.
One of the sharp ends points down.
Sticking into my skin.
I can already feel the electricity of danger.

I slowly drag the blade down
Waiting for the blood to feed my Demon
He licks his lips in waiting
While I hiss at the sting it's bringing.
I flex to make the crimson colors blossom and bloom.
I know it will all be over soon.
Once he's had his fill
I can go back to my life
Like I was never even ill.
...But I don't know how to go back there anymore.
Any attempt at trying only increases his laughter.