Silence is pressing in..
And I'm the only one that can hear it. They stare, they
Judge, but they don't know me. How can they, when I
Don't even know myself? I feel lost, and cold, but I keep
My cool. They look past me again and again. I don't
Matter to them. They say there's hate in my eyes,
And look away quickly, not wanting their perfect vision
Of the world to be destroyed. My eyes go black,
And the silence tells me to kill. I do.
I take my knife, and make my day productive.
The silence grows, and I get angry.
I tell it to go away, but why would it ever listen
To me?
I fall to the ground and scream, all the while knowing
I will never be heard. There's a certain desperation and sense
Of worthlessness that it creates. I think back to all of
The blood I've spilled. I do not cry, nor do I regret a single moment
Of it. I look to the mirrored ceiling and into my
Eyes.
I hold onto the knife firmly and spill blood of my own.
It's a beautiful, demonic red. I think back to the stupid
Movies and television shows I've watched in the past. I remember the
Blood, and quickly recall it's color, too. It's all so fake. I bet it doesn't even
Taste the same. I lick the blood off my arms and watch my eyes
Grow darker. My whispered cries echo inside, and an evil smile forms
On my face.
