You aren't sorry. You're never sorry. Never in your entire life...have you been sorry for anything. You just say it so you look god to others. Then, when no one is around you turn into that dirty son of a bitch I'm too familiar with.

You don't even know me. They don't know me. Mum doesn't know me. Daddy doesn't know me. No one in this entire god damned world knows me and who I truely am. So don't pretend that you do...because you don't...and no one ever will.

I'm passing in the hallway. No one notices me, naturally. People do brush my arms though, and my wrists especially. I wince. After what i did last night every scar on my arms hurt. They just twinge. His name and the thin snakes of scars I made so long ago.

And I need to do it again, even after slicing my wrists open last night.

No. No slicing. I've decided I need a bullet instead.