My scars. Scars from where a drove the cold, sharp blade I keep in my drawer through my pale, thin skin. The pain keeps me from going insane sometimes, keeps me alive. I need it sometimes, I legitimately need it. When my thoughts overwhelm me, I could lose it. Fall away completely. Forever. But I get my blade and the pain distracts me from my brain. I'm not proud of it, but if I don't want to end up like my brother, it works. I pray for my family every night, but not lately. God's not exactly on my side lately. I do believe that God has a plan for everyone, but I think he messed up on mine and forgot to start over. I wear the same outfit every day, it's all I have. It is an old, worn K.C. Royals shirt that was my brothers. But of course I can't wear short sleeves, or people will ask dangerous questions about the marks on my skin. So I pair it with an oversized black hoodie of my dads, to cover my scars and my face when I just want to disappear. An old, faded pair of jeans. And a pair of black Converse shoes, which are tearing at the edges and fraying everywhere. I've had them for 6 years. They are too small, but I can't afford new ones. I cut my thighs too. They're the easiest to hide. Again, my head is really screwed up.
A/N Srry again. This is still really short. I'm not feeling the best rn. Hopefully j will get more readers soon. I have like 4 now. But that's okay, I'm willing to be patient for this. I promise there will probably be just one or maybe two more short chapters before it picks up. I know, I'm shit. But the chapters will get longer I promise. Okay. Bye for rn, lovelies💕
Stay alive|-/
