I want to sleep, and it's 7 at night. I slept until 5 p.m and then I ate and then lay back down. I want to sleep forever, and then some. I want to take so many sleeping pills and then I want someone to hold me in their arms while I die. I want to die loved. I want to die cared for. I wont, though, because I know I'd die alone crying on my bathroom floor with cuts littering my entire arm and both thighs and I'll be curled up like always in a dark corner because I never deserved the light. If I fail, then I'll go to school the next day smiling at everyone as if nothing ever happened and they'll never know that the day before I almost got what I wanted but I didn't. I never do. I'll go to class scanning the wrists of my peers and hoping that there will be someone I can relate to. There is this one girl, a beautiful girl with beautiful brown eyes that always seem happy but I see past it and when she goes to school with medical fabrics wrapped around her arm I frown. I know that it wasn't just "an accident with her stove" when a spot of the burn flashes from underneath the bandages, just as she knows that the scarlet lines on my arm are far too coordinated to be from the cat. We've used the same excuses, and we both know how fucking ruthless the world is. When she doesn't go to school for a week and comes back wearing a pile of bracelets and a broken smile I know exactly what happened. I talk to her about it and we smile even though we're about to cry because we understand how this goes and we act like our talks never happened. I let her break and she lets me break and even though we try to help each other we're just suicidal kids telling other suicidal kids not to be suicidal.