I slit my wrist,

watching the blood slide

down my pale arm

in the moonlight.

I thought it was strange

that nobody cared to ask

where my scars came from

the next day.

I cried,

tears pouring down my face

and catching in my hair,

emptiness looming above me.

Nobody cares about

what happens to you

the voice in my head

bullies me as I ready my knife again.

It probably wasn't okay,

but it felt so good.