I walk into the corridor and look in each direction, not a person in sight. Does this mean I am alone today? That today I don't have to face this world? Of course not, There she is. The teacher that has just spoiled the moment. I open my locker and look inside, that usual feeling of thinking something new will be there. But no, just the usual assortment of books.. I bend down, trying to remember what subjects I have today. Maths. Find the right books, pen, stand up and turn to go to the classroom, but why? Today I think i'll go outside. So I come here, sit, and write. Write about waht could be tomrrow, Maybe tomorrow I wont have to face anyone. Maybe tomorrow there will be something new.. Maybe tomorrow... My wrist craves to be cut again.. That slick, shiny, smooth blade slicing up my soft skin.. Slicing. Such a beautiful word.. So sleak, Calm and.. Relaxing. I want to slice it open, that short jab of pain, as the blade breaks my skin.. The blood. That dark, thick, crimson blood, flowing gently out of my skin.. Dripping slowling from my arm.. drop, drop. slowly, lightly, carefully... I want to cut, want to feel, need to feel again.. Is it the end yet? Can I go now? Or do I have to keep holding on.. Keep pusing people down.. Make then hurt because I am. I don't want to hurt the people I love. Maybe just one last time.