Dark Purple = My friend
WARNING: CAN BE DESCRIPTIVE
The blade. The blood. The bitterness. The nausea. The death.
A broken soul cries.
The blood trickles down my arm as black spots appear in my vision.
With the sound of drip-drip-drip life seeps away.
The bath is no longer clean; water mixed with blood stains the once pristine white tiles.
A last tear falls, trickling down a still warm cheek.
The words 'fat', 'ugly' and 'useless' leave scars in my brain and arms.
Cold, hard blade. I push it in further. Goodbye world.
Happiness is what I feel when I leave, not pain.
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