“I’m more scarred, more scarred than my wrist is.” -Hollywood Undead
Standing on the edge, looking down at the ant-sized people makes me feel as if I’m standing at the top of a volcano. The people burning. Fighting. Me, I’m just done doing something pointless. We’re already in Hell. Stepping off of the edge, back onto the flat surface of the bridge. Gun, and knife at my left side. Poison and pills at my right. Taking back the scattered pills, I carve perfect into my arms. Maybe I can at least die that way since I neve could living. Blood is pouring down my arm now, and dripping off my fingertips. Tortured by my own soul, tattered on my own. All is ended with one bullet. Dead.