I never thought I'd find myself in the school bathroom, leaking red, but here I am again.

I've grown familiar with that blur of fluorescent lights, that scent of phenyl, and the rose tinted tiles I so graciously splatter scarlet specks onto.
Yet, when I feel the silver dig a bit too deep, I spiral into fear, and lay there sobbing till I hear the trill of the shrill electronic bell.

And when I scrub away the tears from my puffy eyes, I wonder, "Why?" It's not like my life is all too difficult, no... It's almost as if I look for excuses to scar my body.
Even though guilt stifles my soul every time I look at my striped body, I can't help but find relief when I see myself bleed.

Aren't I so selfish, so stupid, so unbelievably worthless for hurting this hideous body of mine?

I wonder, I wonder, oh, if I mangle myself for something so petty, what am I to do when I feel true grief? How much scarlet will be enough to satiate my sorrow?

When I wipe the stains of the silvery pair of compasses and the buttons of blood they've stabbed on my arm, I think, maybe...

It won't be much of a surprise when someday, they find me drained dry on the bathroom floor.

{lol imagine talking to people about this instead of ranting on a random app where no one gives a damn-}
© Hyde