That Punk Rock FeelingShe walks down the street, Headphones in her ears. Angry music playing loudly, To keep away her tears. Her hair is short and messy, Her black polish is chipped. Her combat boots thump loudly, Her goodwill jeans are ripped. She likes her rough fashion, Ahough she hates her face. It masks her emotions, Her hearts delicate as lace. Yet she grins at passersby, Who stare with pure disgust. She leaves them speechless, Coverde in her dust.That Punk Rock Feeling
SuicideSuicideSuicide
She picked up her knife and slowly dragged it across the tender flesh of her arm, watching as her blood slowly trailed down in rivulets over her wrist where it finally fell into the sink, turning the clear water a light pink that grew darker with every drop.
This was her ritual. She did this every night without fail. As yet, nobody knew, and nobody would find out. No one had ever questioned why she never wore clothing with shorter sleeves, not even her parents. For the past three years she had done with this and she would continue to do so.
Eventually, she drained the blood st
cuore
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