They Don't Know

Their voices hush as I walk in the room, their eyes silent, looking at me with cold curiousity. Then the whispers begin, a swirling ocean of little pieces of sound caught mid word.
"Rachael..."
"suicide..."
"cutter..."
Accusation and mockery was written in their eyes as they watched me as a cat would watch its prey. Quietly I pulled back a chair from its table, the legs scraping against the floor. I duck my head, trying to hide from their stares, their accusations, their rumors.
They don't know my story. They don't know anything but my name.
I pull my sleeves over the deep, deep wounds from last week, wounds that will never heal, wounds meant to kill.
They don't know.





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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

xXnew_revolutionXx said...
Nov. 5, 2010 at 2:16 pm

i know what you mean- some people do the same thing to me. it doesnt help that i dont have very many friends either.

i hope youre doing alright :)

 
dontstop said...
Oct. 23, 2010 at 12:00 pm
I felt the same way. I can relate. 
 
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