The lost blood of love
I cried. Tears fell from my eyes just like our love did. We never worked, we never will work; all the same it still hurts. I stare at the small, slender line on my thigh; a single stream of pure blood seeping from the opening of my skin. Crimson dripped from it, coating a strip of my upper leg in a thin layer of red. My pressure had been let out, anger even. But I wanted to do it again and again, until I felt numb from emotion. I lifted the razor from the side of the shower and hovered it a bit below my last cut, I hesitated though. I didn’t have the physical strength to do it once more, for my wrists were throbbing and my hands trembling from regret and guilt. I thought a small entrance to my body was going to help from the larger destruction of my love for you.
I still need you, still need your hoodies and comfort. Another bead of sadness and pain dropped from my eyelash and onto the bathroom floor creating a tiny puddle. The bleeding hadn’t stopped by now, as the blood was still dolefully plunging in the rusted bathtub. However, it felt nice having something run down my body, other than tears or a blasting shower head burning my legs raw. I swiftly patted the furious lines with some tissue laying lonely on the plastic stall 2 feet from me, and once some blood was cleared for a second I had a look. It...looked...deep. I felt hopeless, this was going to show and someone was going to notice sooner rather than later. But I didn’t want anyone else to notice, to worry...no one except you.
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