It was 3 in the morning.
She sat by herself, clutching her hair, trying to save herself.
But as the tears streamed down her face, she realized.
She was already dead.
And that's when she smiled.
Because she was always pretending.
Always pretending.
Pretending.
That everything was fine.
Just like waves, nothing permanent.
But she was oh so wrong.
As her life ticked, ticked, ticked by, all she could think is that she couldn't wait for the end.
Please.
Please.
Please.
It's too exhausting.
It's too rough.
Painful.
Excruciating.
Deadly.
Let it be over, she would pray.
But praying did no good.
Because there was no God for her.
And if there was she would ignore him.
Just like he did her.
Help help help help help.
NO!
She seemed to chant in her head.
No help for those in need.
She looked down and cursed.
Her mother won't be too happy with stained carpets.
As she cleaned up her gruesome mess, she laughed.
And laughed.
Laughed.
Laughed.
And that's when she threw up.
Maybe it was the blood loss.
Maybe it was how thin she was.
Or maybe it was the lack of sleep.
Who knows? Who cares!
She started dancing to the song in her head.
The whispers slowly became a chant that she could swing her hips softly to.
Her bony hips.
Her fingers twitched for a cigarette.
She needed to put it between her lips, the death stick.
Make it faster.
FASTER.
Because death was coming.
Flying.
Dancing.
Then she passed out.