I want to cut. I want to hear the musical sigh of skin parting. I want to see the blood flow gently down my forearm, and fall upon my knee. I want to not feel the pain that haunts me every day. I want to be mystified by the liquid form of life itself exiting my hurting body.

Then, a few days from now, I want to peel off the scab, and watch the perfect droplets of blood well up over the skin, I might even taste one.

Then, a few weeks from now, I'll see the scar among the others and be fascinated by its' ugliness. To make people see how unnattractive I truly am. I want to wear a tank top, to make very sure that they see. That they stare. That their mouths drop open. Or that they make an assumption so their world can remain the perfect paradise against the bubble that shields them from all the evil that exists in this ****ed up world that we live in. And I will revel in their ignorance.

And to thee, sweet blood, my friend, my fascination, you shall be payment to my demons, and shall be happy for a little while.
Veronica4 Veronica4
18-21, F
1 Response Jun 4, 2011

I admire your style of writing. "the musical sigh of skin parting" is what kept me reading. You really have an art when it comes to words. Take pride in that.<br />
When I read your story, I heard myself, voice void of any emotion. Just completely numb. Done.<br />
But whereas you are facinated by its' ugliness, I was always later disgusted and ashamed by it. Guess in a weird sadistic kind of way that makes you the stronger person. <br />
I'm not going to beg you to stop, or give you alternative uses that you may or may not look at. <br />
All I have to say to you is *note the irony* be careful...