Music and words thing. short and not very good.
I can barely fucking take it anymore. If I hear anymore declarations of love on this tour I’ll god-damn scream. Not that I’m not happy and proud of my little brother for getting married. And Ray. It just feels like I’m going crazy.
You know you’re just jealous. A small part of me says, but I push it away, even though I know what it is saying is true.
I’m currently in my hotel room. In the bathroom. It’s the first hotel night in weeks and I’m spending it curled up on the white tiled floor. I stand to my feet weakly, so that I am in line with the large mirror across the wall of the bathroom. I just sink back to the floor, disgusted at what I saw. What have I become?
Blood is sharp shivers through my veins.
I’m all pale skin and jutting bones and a veil of greasy black hair, I wrapped my arms around my torso fingers brushing against my ribs sticking out of my chest.
I’ve barely been eating lately, I just don’t see the point, what do I have to live for anymore? What’s the point in even trying anymore? I know that lot’s of people are worried about me. But the one person I really want to care has barely even noticed, that certain short punk kid that has been the object of my obsessions. He’ll never know how much he means. No one will.
This way it wont hurt as much, I thought. Razorblade in shaking hands.
I’m so weak, I thought as I bought it to my skin. Pushing down into the tender flesh of my wrists.
Blood poured down over the white tiles as I slashed my skin.
It barely even hurt. I cant feel anything anymore. I have wasted my feelings and my hopes on love. It has made me nothing but a travesty.
And now its over. I have become the physical embodiment of lost love.