The Perfect Night.

Sitting on my bed, bleeding on the inside, dying on the outside. Wearing black eye shadow, nails, hair, clothes. Listening to depressing music, crying my eyes out. Carving my knife deeper and deeper into my flesh, up my arm, watching the blood slowly slide down to my hand. It’s getting harder to breathe. Grab another bottle of pills and start to swallow, one, two… fifteen…twenty-one…. almost there, just a few more bottles…