becka

My Character Analysis
2004-01-26 23:31:51 (UTC)

Tainted Hands...

I washed my hands, tainted with blood and history, in
the sink today. The hot water scorched my fingers but I
couldn't feel; the only thing I saw was my own blood being
washed off without ease. One more day disappearing with the
same problem.

I had sat there, upon my bed, looking at the blank
television screen, noticing the similarities between it and
my own life. Why had my heart become empty, boundless? Was
I that bad of a person to suffer like this? One glance at
my desk and I knew what I had to do.
I picked up the knife with a blank face, realizing I
had never cleaned it from the previous "accident". Dark red
embraced the tip of the knife. But I didn't care; I was
still usable. I sat back upon my bed waiting until my right
hand took control and had the bravery to press down.
The time of no courage was soon over; I had already
begun to see that familiar red capable of silencing any
person. I started to cry making the momment become one of
the ones that haunt me no matter how many times I try to
forget. The pain became over whelming but I needed it, I
deserve everything I am ever given. One more cut, just
another, then I'll stop.
One became two, two became three and so on. It was
amazing to see myself maintaining no actual control; the
control had been lost after I had decided to give up my
life earlier. It has never been found...

Why won't you bleed for me? I bleed for you...




Ad: