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I guess congratulations are in order. You've just officially joined the list of Important Men in My Life, because I was sober when I did it.




A phone call would've sufficed. I'm not even being sarcastic.

(I don't care to make this pretty. It's not pretty.)

I hadn't done it until now because I know you wouldn't want me to, and when I held the knife to my thigh I heard your voice cracking in the car, "because I love you," but I can't hardly be bothered with what you want anymore. You obviously didn't care that much. I'm not hard to please, I'm really not. I am hard to hurt this bad, though. Okay?

Shit.

What, can't I just cut once anymore?

The thing is I think I could just go on and on and never stop. But you've already put three sets of scars on my body and I think that's more than enough.