The Water..

She turns on the water.

 

Making sure its cold.

 

Very cold.

 

Takes off her bra and underwear, slowly, but without hesitation,

 

She steps in the water,

 

Foot by foot,

 

Seeing her black toe nails under the water, looks beautiful to her,

 

Why?

 

No one will ever really know.

 

She sits down in the tub.

 

Her whole body in the freezing water.

 

Seeing her scars,

 

The wide, pink, teathered up scars on her thy.

 

She draws her attention away from the scars and slides her self down to be under the water.

 

She stays there,

 

Just stays, waitng to run out of breath.

 

She loves the feeling of running out of breath.

 

She comes back up.

 

Looks to her right,

 

And grabs her blade.

 

Her trusty blade,

 

So fucking sharp.

 

She grips it tightly,

 

Without cutting her hands.

 

She holds it in her ‘cutting hold.’

 

And just starts slashing,

 

At her legs and arms.

 

Deep.

 

Wide.

 

Gushing.

 

The water around her turns a murky pink color,

 

Seeing the blood gush from her poor little body in the water is like watching red silk dance in a pool of crystal clear toxic waste.

 

She can feel the feeling coming back.

 

The good, old, feeling she used to get when she lost too much blood.

 

Its back.

 

And she isn’t a yet bit satisfied yet.

 

She doesn’t think she ever will.

 

So she just, sits there.

 

Sits there and admires her cut up body.

 

She looks at her stomache, her so called fat.

 

And wants to do it more.

 

But she doesn’t want to stain the tub.

 

Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t like that.

 

She just sits there.

 

And sits there.

 

And sits there.

 

Till finally,

 

She gets her worn out body up,

 

Makes sure she isnt still bleeding,

 

Drains the water,

 

Dries up,

 

Gets in her pajamas,

 

And then pretends that nothing ever happened.

 

Then, Mommy’s home.

 

“Hi honey, what have you been doing?”

 

“Nothing much, tv, food, music.. the usual.”

 

“Oh, thats nice.”

 

Well, she sure does hope that this cutting becomes “the usual.”