A Bloody Canvas

Freak, Loser, Hopeless, Worthless. These words followed her home.

She clicked the lock on the bathroom door so no one could hear her sobs.

Not even bothering to take off her garments, nothing but a white dress,

She stepped into the porcelain tub. She felt the hot rain envelop her fair skin.

The cloth of the garment clung to her body like velcro

She held her arm out in front of her, blank as an empty canvas. 

She took her artist tool in hand and began her work.

Small and steady lines perpindicular to her forearm.

She carved with diligence and persition as the crimson liquid dripped to the foot of the tub.

It wasn't enough, the blood already was washing away from the rain.

She held the blade tighter between her fingertips and knew what she had to do.

In two flicks of the wrist, long vertical slashes went down she arm.

She smiled, enthused, as the red paint poured from the gashes.

She felt her body grow weaker, her heart clinging for life.

She felt her feet give from under her and she slowly collapsed into the tub.

Her heartbeat was already slowing, the blood now covered her like a blanket. 

She took a small shaky finger and wrote three words across her abdomen. 

She let hereyelids flutter once and then close to be ripped away from the world and die in darkness.

A pleasant grin will now be frozen on her rotting corpse for all eternity.

And when they would find her, they would see her handiwork and three words across her belly.

"I am free" 



Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741