• I love him. Blood dripped on the floor as tiny rain drops. He left me. The razor sliced into my skin, making another mark of my loneliness, knowing that I’ll never get him back. My blood seeped out into the world where I breathe, smell, taste, sleep, cry. One year has passed. One year of torture and agony. He promised me that he will protect me, but all he did was left me for dead. Reaching into my backpack, I took out my first aid kit. Cleaned out the cuts and bandaged them up, then hiding them with a long, sleeves shirt. Hoodies I prefer more than a single, thing fabric to hide my scars. I left my hometown so I could be safe. The bullies at my old school were getting to nasty. They thought it would be cool if my eyeballs were plastered on their wall along with my tongue. Very sick I know! And frankly I don’t want to die like that or have my body parts up for show. But that was all a year ago. The screeching of the hinges on the old bathroom door sounded, letting known that somebody is going to intrude into the bathroom. Gathering up my materials I stuffed them in my bag has fast as my brutalized arms could move. Lifting myself up upon my feet, my head hanged low, swinging the strap onto my shoulder, I scurried out of the bathroom, with the hinges making another screeching musical till it slammed shut. Slowing my pace, I quietly went to my locker. “f**, emo, low life, no body” were taped to my locker door. Reminding me that I’m the failure. That I’m the one who gave into his charm. His gratitude hurts the most though. Ignoring the displays, I turned my combination on my lock. Why rip, tear them down to the ground? They’ll just return anyway; in memory.