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• 1987-04-20
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• land o lakes florida
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• 2004-06-22
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• musician
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• matthew

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myOtaku.com: emoboyinlove


Wednesday, August 4, 2004

well i'm postind it here
This is just something I got in one of my emo vision dazes at 1:45am

Morning light breaks thru the cracks in the blinds and an alarm goes off. Its 7:30am and Jeff is already awake. He slams his fist on to the button to shut off the beeping. Up and down the inside of his left arm there are scratches and cuts. Realizing this obvious mark he reached for his pink and black striped arm warmer and slid it on covering his wounds. He picks himself off the floor and staggers to stand up. Gaining his balance he walks out of his room into the kitchen where his mother is already up and making breakfast.
“Would you like some breakfast honey?” she asks
“No…I’m not hungry” Jeff replies
“You need to eat dear…anyways here take this” she says giving him and anti-depressant
Jeff moves into the bathroom and locks the door. Standing over the toilet he leers into his hand at the pill and clenches his fist around it.
“Fucking pills. They can’t help me. Fucking pills” he says as he tightens his grip and breaks the pill in half. He then drops the pill into the toilet and flushes it away with a smirk
“heh opps …oh well no harm no foul” he then takes a shower and examines his wounds more closely. Some of the cuts reached deeper than expected and haven’t fully closed up yet. as the blood ran down the drain the stinging of the soap was starting to irritate him.
Out of the shower he examines himself in the mirror. His eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep and he had dark bags around his eyes.
Back in his room after getting dressed he examines the floor he had sat on all night and the scene of his acts. The razorblade still sat by his chair stained with his own blood. He moves over to it picking it up and sliding it back into his pocket. Then moves back and into the closet where his work lay. In the corner of his closet is the soul of Jeff. In the closet lay a canvas. A canvas with the pain painted right on it with the blood of the artist himself. Absorbed by the bittersweet beauty of this blood stained canvas he is inspired to continue until it is finished. Not knowing until the time comes when that might happen.

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