Post by xToTheENDx on Feb 8, 2008 14:27:07 GMT -5
Frank's POV
The blood dripping on the floor, the scars and slits on my wrists, the tears in my eyes.
It's all evidence of what he's done to me.
I reach for the razorblade again, dragging it down my arm and making a long, jagged cut. I wince a little from the burning feeling; but I'm getting used to it fast.
And somehow, the pain in my arms eases the pain in my heart, my mind.
Or maybe it doesn't.
There's this deep, gripping, nausiating feeling deep in my gut every time I see him, hear him speak.
I loved him so much.
I think he proved he didn't love me.
A tear runs down the side of my face and lands on my arm, salt burning open wounds.
I wish I could put him through the pain he's put me through, just so he could see what he's done.
Let him feel the sadness, the dark that covers everything in my life.
I hope she breaks his heart.
Her.
I don't know whether to like her or not.
She stole Gerard from me...but yet, he chose to love her.
I place the razor on the nightstand by the motel bed, and as I do I notice that it's nearly three in the morning.
I have to quit.
Have to sleep.
I slowly get up and walk over to my suitcase, getting the cloth bandages I use to hide the cuts.
I slip the black pieces of fabric over my arms, and then pull my shirt off and walk back over to the bed.
As I lie in bed, I think.
I've gotten into such a mess, a mess I can't get out of.
I'm digging myself a hole, constantly making it deeper and deeper.
There's no going back, things will never be the same again.
Ever.
Suicide is a temping offer.
Yet, I don't think I have the strength to kill myself...yet.
I roll over onto my side and sigh heavily, stressed; trying to block out the painful thoughts.
I can't.
And the sun is rising before I ever managed to drift off to sleep.
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C&C? Comments?
The blood dripping on the floor, the scars and slits on my wrists, the tears in my eyes.
It's all evidence of what he's done to me.
I reach for the razorblade again, dragging it down my arm and making a long, jagged cut. I wince a little from the burning feeling; but I'm getting used to it fast.
And somehow, the pain in my arms eases the pain in my heart, my mind.
Or maybe it doesn't.
There's this deep, gripping, nausiating feeling deep in my gut every time I see him, hear him speak.
I loved him so much.
I think he proved he didn't love me.
A tear runs down the side of my face and lands on my arm, salt burning open wounds.
I wish I could put him through the pain he's put me through, just so he could see what he's done.
Let him feel the sadness, the dark that covers everything in my life.
I hope she breaks his heart.
Her.
I don't know whether to like her or not.
She stole Gerard from me...but yet, he chose to love her.
I place the razor on the nightstand by the motel bed, and as I do I notice that it's nearly three in the morning.
I have to quit.
Have to sleep.
I slowly get up and walk over to my suitcase, getting the cloth bandages I use to hide the cuts.
I slip the black pieces of fabric over my arms, and then pull my shirt off and walk back over to the bed.
As I lie in bed, I think.
I've gotten into such a mess, a mess I can't get out of.
I'm digging myself a hole, constantly making it deeper and deeper.
There's no going back, things will never be the same again.
Ever.
Suicide is a temping offer.
Yet, I don't think I have the strength to kill myself...yet.
I roll over onto my side and sigh heavily, stressed; trying to block out the painful thoughts.
I can't.
And the sun is rising before I ever managed to drift off to sleep.
---------------------------------------------
C&C? Comments?
