life bores me

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: June 13, 2017

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Submitted: June 13, 2017

A A A

A A A


Life bores me, no friends only rumour and knifes. I’m the girl who no one knows or acknowledges unless accusing me of being a freak. A weird piece of shit who should just die. “Maybe I should just listen to them” races in my mind while I brush off my parents, telling them not to fret or get involved. More chance of being found out; a suicidal self-harmer. No one to turn to so I curl my wicked body into a ball and shed my sorrows. Drowning in my own bitter tears, I turn to the sparkling knife, it’s glinting blade reflecting the glacial, indifferent moon. Searching in my mind to find something; anything to stop this torturous mistake. I craft the picturesque picture painted in my plump skin projecting my pain. My true survival method includes slicing my own skin up, are you proud of my or ashamed because it’s always one or the either. At least from what I’ve learnt from past experiences.

Conning myself with the words “I’m fine”, I make it into academy of sluts, jocks and the outcasts aka school. Top sets don’t mean a thing if you’re not arranging to live past your supposedly wild twenties so I bunk off and sleep all day. Tossing and turning interrupts the nightmares and traumas yet I can never escape depression hibernation. Skiving school because I’m “ill”, I just want to sleep away the days and free the nights. Climbing out the window to get fresh air never gets old as the breeze brings the scent of smoke closer and I know my sister is home. With a new man and new money.

I rarely eat anymore and not just because my family is poor, I’s because I can’t work up an appetite. I have no interest in my hobbies anymore. Nothing to do and nobody to do it with. I can’t seem to figure out what is wrong with me. People daily ask if I’m okay but they’re not really interested in me; they only talk to me so they can’t take the blame for when I’m dead. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a toll on me whenever someone asks and then say you look gloomy, you should smile more however happiness doesn’t exist in my cruel, defective vessel. My eyes glazed over. A doll with no strings to order me, and no passion to follow. I just exist but not for long.


© Copyright 2017 Antonia Richmond. All rights reserved.

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