My life right now seems to be full of problems. I'm appalled at the thought of it, or maybe even repelled by my very own life right now. It's a mess, just like my room.



It's like there was this big fight in the room. glass ornaments, mirrors, shattered. furniture sent flying across the room, and crashing at the wall. wallpaper cracked, torn, clothes, books and shreds of pages strewn across the once bare floor. the only window, the only source of light, missing a few panels, broken glass everywhere. Some of them smeared with my blood, and im just sitting there, on the floor, alone in the room, letting my wounds bleed themselves out, not knowing what to do. its just me, sitting there, staring at the deep slits in my arms, the slashes in my delicate fingers, and that fragile face looking so deprived of blood, of warmth.



im hurting so much from the pain of the injuries but i know who can heal me. its him, with his first aid kit, standing at the door, knocking softly at first, asking me to open the door for him to come in to attend to my bloody wounds, to soothe my tears stinging the wounds. the security in his voice so strong yet so tender, so firm yet so gentle.



and then he starts knocking harder, louder, when i dont seem to be responding to his call and opening up. he starts to get frantic, panicked, banging the door with fists clenched so tight, you could see the green-blue veins sticking out , contrasting with his white knuckles, and crying out my name

" PLEASE!" hurt filled his heart as he listens to my wails of agony, of pain so intent, so unbearable. he listens as im about to give up, and say its over, whats the point of hanging on anymore. and he bangs the door even louder, begging with all that he has for me to open up, to trust him with my wounds, pleading with me to not give in to the pain, assuring me that he's here, telling me " it wont hurt anymore, just let me in"



i can hear the tears in his pained voice, i can see his livid face in my mind, yelling at me. His face flushed red, not with anger but with fear and pain and maybe anger, too. anger channeled towards the side of me who's giving up, who's not trusting him enough.



he's on his knees, banging at the door, never once losing hope in me, never once losing hope in who he knows i am deep down inside, never once giving up on who he knows i can truly be. and me, on the other side of the door, im about to give up. i cant take it anymore. i've lost too much blood. the wounds are cut too deep. it just too painful to hold on anymore. i knew peace, serenity, and numbness were just a footstep away. but i dont think i even have the strength to take that step. how i wish to even be licked by those flames of comfort, a place where pain doesnt exist, only peace.



somewhere far off in my conscious mind, i tried to reach for the door. to let him in so that he would stop that awful racket of banging. but no matter how hard i tried to cross the room to feel the coolness of the doorknob beneath my fingertips, i just cant seem to reach it. i keep tripping over the things thrown all over the floor. i keep falling over the mess. and each time i fall, i get cut again. again and again. the numerous times i have fallen - can you even start to imagine how many gashes have torn apart my soft skin? can you imagine how much life- running-blood i've lost?



i still cant seem to open the door. everytime i see the handle within my grasp, i reach out and my palms wet with fresh blood feels the disappointment and frustration of the doorknob sliding away yet again.



im much too weak to carry on any longer.

my blood is dripping.........







draining........









slowly, drop by drop......





leaving my soul, dry...









.......empty.