I cry; tears from my eyes, blood from my wrists. Both flow from me, both land on the white linens of my bed. White: a colour not fit for me. Never was, never will be.
Never is a very long time, even for me. The cuts aren't deep; I'm not that weak, I can still resist. Yes, It won, but only a small battle, a minor skirmish. I'm still here, I'm still fighting. Broken, but alive.
The tears still fall from my eyes, from my wrists.
And I know, somewhere, tears fall for me. Tears of sadness, happiness, I'll never know. His tears. He knows that I know, but I don't think he cares.
I pretend not to. But I do, secretly. Though everything, for me at least, is done in secret. The life that people see, the girl that people claim to know, that is not me. She is not me.
She cries tears of sorrow, pain.
I cry tears of defiance. My wrists weep for mercy.
They've earned it, for now. For now, until the next moment of Its strength, of my weakness. Her weakness.
We go through the motions together.