Broken Doesn't Mean Fixed

Here we go again

I was back home for that party at around midnight. My mom actually opened the door and let me in. Harley took me home. That tree will never be forgotten. I got through the door and my mom waved goodbye to Harley and then shut the door. She pulled me into a hug. "Honey why are you sad?" She asked resting her head on my shoulder. "Nothing mom. I'm really fine." I say. "Honey come on" she tries again to get me to crack. "No mom I'm actually fine" Then I stomp to my room.

I slam the door the jump on my bed. This is so weird. And shit. All at the same time. I just really want to like...I don't know. Cry again? So I do. I start crying. Why would Harley kiss me? Why? Why are my parents arguing on who was the reason I killed myself? I mean it's no ones fault except mine. I'm a horrible person.

I sat up from my bed and looked around my tiny room. My bed was in the left corner of it and my desk was in the other. My room was a blue mess. It was my fav colour. I opened one of my drawers from my desk and grabbed my blade of death.

I started making tiny dents in my skin before I decided I'm gonna do it. I grabbed the blade and pushed even further inside my skin. And before I knew it I blacked out.

Here we go again.