HOME | DD

Description
Fuck you and all the things you do to me. Stop it! I scream and scream but nobody hears me. You laugh, I cry. Get out! Screaming and screaming. It echos in my noisy head. Your voice, their voices. All of these voices. I just want to blow my head to pieces. Maybe they'll stop. Maybe they'll be happy when I'm gone. They think I'm a worthless piece of shit. They spit at me in disgust when I feel pretty. I don't feel pretty anymore. I feel hideous, repulsive, ugly. They wont let me feel anything but. I have nothing. But I want nothing more but to escape what is called thought. They're killing my soul, who I am. Oh no. "Put the pencil down. Look at her trying to feel something! Hahaha! She's trying to feel better. There's no use. You're a joke. You're going nowhere. She's got to be kidding herself if she thinks she's going to get better! Try to push us out and we only get worse!" There they go again. They're right. I am nothing. I'm going nowhere. I grip my head. "You bet we're right! Grab the gun. You know it's the only way to rid of us. It's your savior. Death is so sweet. Do it! Come on. You pig. You fucking selfish bitch!" They're always right. I pick up the gun. It feels cool to the touch. I like the feeling. Soothing. I bring it up to my face and stick the end of the barrel into my mouth. It chills my lips and my tongue. I place my finger on the trigger. "Good girl. Finally, a smart choice. Do it." They all start speaking at once, saying the same things. I shed a tear. I can't take it. "We're proud of you," was the last thing I heard in the voice of my parents before I pulled the trigger. Then, silence.

Description
Fuck you and all the things you do to me. Stop it! I scream and scream but nobody hears me. You laugh, I cry. Get out! Screaming and screaming. It echos in my noisy head. Your voice, their voices. All of these voices. I just want to blow my head to pieces. Maybe they'll stop. Maybe they'll be happy when I'm gone. They think I'm a worthless piece of shit. They spit at me in disgust when I feel pretty. I don't feel pretty anymore. I feel hideous, repulsive, ugly. They wont let me feel anything but. I have nothing. But I want nothing more but to escape what is called thought. They're killing my soul, who I am. Oh no. "Put the pencil down. Look at her trying to feel something! Hahaha! She's trying to feel better. There's no use. You're a joke. You're going nowhere. She's got to be kidding herself if she thinks she's going to get better! Try to push us out and we only get worse!" There they go again. They're right. I am nothing. I'm going nowhere. I grip my head. "You bet we're right! Grab the gun. You know it's the only way to rid of us. It's your savior. Death is so sweet. Do it! Come on. You pig. You fucking selfish bitch!" They're always right. I pick up the gun. It feels cool to the touch. I like the feeling. Soothing. I bring it up to my face and stick the end of the barrel into my mouth. It chills my lips and my tongue. I place my finger on the trigger. "Good girl. Finally, a smart choice. Do it." They all start speaking at once, saying the same things. I shed a tear. I can't take it. "We're proud of you," was the last thing I heard in the voice of my parents before I pulled the trigger. Then, silence.