Warning this deals with topics of suicidal tendencies and eating disorders reader discretion is advised

Tick
Tick
Crash
Glass from the now broken picture frame rubs against my palm
I squeeze the glass in my hand
Harder
Harder
Till blood comes out
I place the ****** glass down on a piece of paper
And lick my hand to clean the wound.
This is what I deserve?
"Yes keep going"
The bitter taste of blood fills my mouth as I try to wash it away
"You wanted to eat? Right?"
I look around my room for some way to clean the wound
Tissues that had been used from previous nights like this fill my desk
"There's a protein bar in the left drawer, OJ, eat it."
"Stay out of this, Maxwell, we both know you can't do anything"
The two of them argue as I get up to lay in bed
"OJ you are nobody to everyone"
His words haunt my head as with the last bit of strength I have left
Take the glass
And with the blood still on it
I write no
"Left drawer"
"You don't deserve it, you are a nobody OJ you don't deserve to eat"
He was right
The next morning I gave the bar to a homeless man
To someone who isn't a nobody.