Let's imagine the end

May 26, 2009

“Can you please stop doing this?” He pleaded while holding my wrists in his hands. “You’re really hurting me.”

I didn’t remember much after that. All I remember was noticing that the blood dripping from where his hands were was extra dark that day. Much like the barbecue sauce that he likes to use to dip his chicken nuggets. I closed my eyes and let him pick me up from the bathtub. His chest was warm against my ice cold skin. Like a blizzard under the blazing sun.

I heal quickly. I guess I’m just lucky that I’m not a hemophiliac. Or unlucky, in my case. I usually get what I want, just never this.

It’s so easy to hurt yourself, but not so easy to end yourself. Someone always interferes. It’s weird when you hold on to nothing but they still choose to hold on to you. What is there to hold on to?

He likes to show me that he cares by crying about it. I’m not sure if I care so much if I don’t ever listen. It’s just something that I do. One vein at a time. Simply beautiful. It’s almost like a tattoo, but a lot more organic. He just doesn’t view beauty the same way I do. Naturally.

Time to use the bathroom.