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Jul 2019
I chuckle lightly and smile at my knife.  One day, I would use this weapon to take my own life.  Slowly, I jab it into my arm, dragging it down and causing self-harm.  I have an addiction to inflicting pain, so I do it to myself since nothing will I gain except for the scars and blood on my skin.  How could this ever be considered a sin?

The blood trickles slowly down, hardening then turning brown.  I clean it up as if nothing happened.  If my parents knew, they'd be deeply saddened.  I act like I do normally and my friends don't notice anything wrong with me.  I wear a jacket to cover the scratches.  Some are still healing from last week's matches.

I feel the need to try other ways to cut myself, but to my dismay, I lost my only blade.  I bought a better one for which I paid.  The cuts on my arms grow more crowded.  There are too many to be counted.

After slicing my arms, legs and feet, I look to Death who I'll soon greet.  Just one stroke to end my life.  I whisper a prayer and grab my knife.  Admiring the dagger-like shank, I slide it against my neck and calmly thank anyone who didn't know of this.  They are all oblivious.

Today I will complete my mission, a goal of which I am commissioned.  You must  know, this has to be, and now I'm dead because no one stopped me...
I drew a very eye-opening image on the back page in my notebook.  This poem accompanies it.
Growly Wolfus
Written by
Growly Wolfus  14/USA
(14/USA)   
127
   Growly Wolfus
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