Work Text:
Your eyes are locked on your arms. Blood stains your pants as it drips out of the cuts. You don't know why you did this. People say you have a perfect life, and you're as handsome as they say.
If that's the case, then why do you feel so miserable all the time?
Your boyfriend, Jake, hasn't responded to any of your messages. You look around your room for bandages, tissues, or anything to wipe the blood. Just your blankets and puppets that are reachable at the moment, thinking it for a minute before grabbing a soft red puppet, the same color as your dripping blood.
You wipe the blood with the puppet's long nose. It's unsanitary, but it's much better than using a blanket, something you sleep with every day. Taking a glance at your cuts, the thoughts take over again.
Your cuts aren't valid enough. Not good enough. Six shallow cuts aren't something to care about over.
You grab the cutter you used to cut yourself with, trying to cut more lines on your wrists, your hands shake as you press the cutter on your wrist.
Slice. Slice. Slice. You drag the cutter, cutting through your skin, still shallow cuts in your eyes. *Its not enough.* Blood drips like a raindrop drooping on an umbrella.
Nothing is ever enough for you.