Stitches closing star-shaped scars, wrists dotted with lines of black thread,
xxx that I wish I could delete, erase from all those meaningless texts
And hiding them from the last line of each note, concealing them in a smear of ink.
You don't want me, so I don't need you.
Three bleeding, bullet-wounded X's,
Torn down, shattered, like the heart I used to have,
Before you sent me into this nothingness, this state of unfeeling depression.
Death of all emotions, I don't give a damn what society thinks of these scars.
Scraping at those crosses the stitches form,
I don't know what to do anymore, just a girl lost in her own mind,
The world's worse place to be, becoming more unresponsive every day,
Not even brave enough for the "coward's way out."
I'm going to die. C u in hell. xxx, Kat.
Goddamn this torture that cheap novels call "love."