The blade sings to me. Faintly, so soft against my ears, its voice calms my worries and tells me that one touch will take it all away. It tells me that I just need to slide a long horizontal cut, and make a clean slice. It tells me the words that I have been begging to hear: this will make it ok.

Here, from her ashes you lay. A broken girl so lost in despondency that you know that even if she does find her way out of this labyrinth in hell, that she will never see, feel, taste, or touch life the same again.

Alone with thoughts of what should have long been forgotten, I let myself be carried away into the silent screams of delirium.

A nightmare has taken hold of my body. Lunacy has dug its way inside my mind.

I’m a stranger behind the same set of eyes that the girl in the photo holds.

There, alone in the sterile room, sitting on a pink vinyl chair that boasts many cracks in its once nice upholster, you wait. You think to yourself , who would have thought I would be ringing in the New Year by urinating into a cup to see if I have chlamydia?

Tears of my own begin to mix in with the raindrops, but I tell myself that the sky cries to show us that we can too.