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THE THIN RED LINE
I cut myself
I can't even say why exactly
Perhaps only because yet again I was feeling less than special
I cut myself, and felt a tiny slice of pain
Not even pain exactly, just a slight discomfort
I cut myself, knowing that someone else was watching me
I watched the tiny line of red grow thicker
Watched as a dot of almost black blood formed at the corner of the line
I touched it; it was already cooling on my leg
I disturbed it and watched the droplet become a smudge
I rubbed my fingers together and tasted it
So thin-you always think blood will be thicker than water, but it isn't
really
It's thin and cold and has little taste
A little like raw meat only more refreshing and less meaty
But back to the point-I cut myself
I've done it when I was alone before
I don't always have an audience
But I know that someone will always eventually see it
See the evidence of my unhappiness
I think that's the goal of my life
To make someone truly understand how I feel
No one really understands how I feel-not even myself
It makes me wonder if I really do feel
If I'm human
Sometimes I believe I don't feel
That what I choose to feel is what I believe I should be feeling
That I'm the best actress in the world because I've fooled even myself
"Look world, I'm human"
It's like I feel on the outside, but on the inside there lies an ice cube
Maybe that's why my blood is so cold
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