I am only a myth. A bogus, incompliant, stereotyped, character. Written down and thought of, carelessly. Crudely discovered in an insipid sense, and yet I do not grasp my proper meaning. I am only suggesting this because I do not speak much; and it's okay to hide it inside.....I think.

I sat contorted, my knees burried into my bewailed heart; curls of my hazel hair falling over my annular shaped-head. I squeezed my eyes together, firmly to conveniently slit my left wrist. Burden, fear, and oppression oozed thickly from my wrist as I felt contenment. I began to breathe heavily. Momentarily, the rush was fading away and I could feel it thin out.

Slinging the crimson blade to the obscure area of my room, nausea enfolded leisurely throught out my exhaustive being. Carelessly, I brushed the slit wrist against my sleek forehead. Thick blood drizzled sluggishly down to the tip of my nose. A smirk apperead, shyly.
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