Cause I've Been Trying Way Too Long To Try And Be The Perfect Song When Our Hearts Are Heavy Burdens We Shouldn't Have To Bear Alone

It feels empty. My heart feels like it's not there anymore, leaving an empty hollow hole in my chest and part of me just thinks that's better than feeling things at all, because my head gets messed up, leaving my heart lost, and the thing is... I'm lost already and I don't need these feelings any more - I don't need it at all.

I feel guilty for the fact that there was even an eleventh at all, let alone the fact that I am a victim to addiction, turning the eleven into twelve, and then thirteen, then fourteen, and things just got a little blurry after the fifteenth. Mike would reckon blood loss, but I would reckon guilt and heartache.

I've never really felt this kind of guilty before but this is all I ever want to feel of it, now I'm sure. I want to rip my veins out and any amount of slashes against my steadily growing pale skin can never be enough. I just want to die; right in this moment, right now - I just want to throw my heart away, bleed myself dry and jump from the tallest building I can find, and give myself that feeling of flying and weightlessness to match that sickening butterfly feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I want to die, and I don't want to leave behind a trace, because Vic's everything that matters and somehow I know I've mistrusted him and managed to ruin it all again, because this just hurts too much. I'm pathetic, and I know it. He doesn't deserve me - the world doesn't deserve me. I'm just a lost heart in a lonely mind in a world that isn't worth my time.

Vic is wasting his time on a hopeless cause like me and I want to fix that for him. I need to fix that for him - I feel like it's required. And I'm going to fill out his demand because I can't count the mess I've made by now, and here it all goes.

I wonder if I could really bleed myself dry.

It sounds like a challenge.

It feels like a challenge.

I'm certain it's a challenge I can complete.

It's a challenge I need.

I don't know how many I've made so far, but I know it's far too many for this to end with me in any 'mentally stable' condition, but that is of course only a problem when doctors are involved and within the privacy of my own bedroom and not a psych ward, my mental stability is the least of my problems.

Mental stability was never even on my mind until Vic pushed it there; because I just didn't care what people thought - people were, and in fact still are, rather irrelevant in my opinion. Vic Fuentes has somehow managed to make himself the exception, and I don't like that - I don't like it at all.

I make red until the whole word is red and I can barely breathe - I like things better this way, and then when I'm certain I've really made a mess, I gather some clothes, my phone, and all the change I have into my bag, pull on an oversized dark hoodie leaving my face away from view and I leave.

I do of course bring a blade; the sharp metal tucked up neatly in my palm; close to me. Where I need it. I need my friends the most now, because I'm most definitely all alone now - not even Vic can save me, despite what he wants to think up in that little head of his - that shit just isn't going to happen.

I leave, because there's nothing else to do. There's nothing else to say and there's nothing left of my life apart from the sting of metal and the longing addiction for red against the hatred of white skin.

I don't want to be in reality anymore - I don't want to have the opportunity to hurt people and fuck things up further - my heart hurts too much right now. I can't deal with people. I can't deal with the world. I can't deal with life anymore and I know that now - I know it all too well; I'm just not sure how to deal with it.

I don't know if I'm going to kill myself instantly. I will eventually - that's for sure. It's like a fixed point on my timeline - something that happens without question. The when it will happen, is the question here, and it still remains a question without an answer... in need of an answer.

I think I'd just like to disappear for a while before I disappear in entirely a more permanent manner, because surely there's nothing wrong with pretending you aren't alive; sitting there and holding your breath just to know what it'd be like to not breathe.

Breathing is very overrated in my opinion. We work to transfer oxygen and carbon dioxide through and respiratory system every single moment of our lives, and for what cause? To stay alive. To keep breathing. As people say. We literally breathe to breathe - there's nothing... we're not living, we're respiring- and, I don't want to - I don't like that.

I don't want to speak. I don't want to speak to anyone. I don't want to concern myself with people and other emotional attachments; I just don't need that - I don't need it at all. I don't need people; I don't need humanity.

I am fine, in fact better, on my own, and that is a sure fact in my head - one that just isn't to be questioned, and it will stay that way. Vic Fuentes can fuck off, because if there's one single thing about me he isn't going to change - it's that.

I just need nothing; I need the emptiness, because it's the only thing I can rely upon; the fact that one day I will die. One day I'll be a body in a coffin, or ashes in an urn, and that's beautifully comforting, because they're no worries anymore; just earth living around me, as I float away into nothingness; into the realm of death.

And I think that's the most comforting fact of all, and it's not something that will change - not even if I'm locked up in a padded cell for the rest of my days, my days are still limited. I will die someday.

And I live for that fact.

-

I find myself in the middle of nowhere again; the nothingness that connects with the feeling inside of me and somehow even in the bitterly cold midnight air, all of this is peaceful because I'm just content and secure in the fact that there's no 'morning' for me; there's no school or structured life ahead of me - I'm nothing; barely a shadow.

I don't feel real anymore and things are just better that way. So much better, in fact, almost euphoric, perhaps.

I played with blade curled up in my palm, stroking down the rusty metal edge and wondering whether I should make another. The thing is that once I've started, I really just can't stop and that does just leave me in nothing short of an awful mess, but maybe now, an awful mess is all I'm aiming to achieve.

So I give in and make one. It wasn't like I was really fighting it awfully much in the first place though.

And before I know it - there are two, and then three, and four, and five.

This is a full blown addiction - this, I know now. Except it isn't nicotine, alcohol, or heroin; the addiction is the emptiness, the red; the release of the blood from my own veins. It's release that's all; it's slowly slipping away from reality as much as I can at the moment. I do think now I'm ready to end it entirely, but I think I'll have one night; one night of pretending to be dead and holding my breath for far too long before it all ends with one final breath and one silent goodbye.

Because nobody's listening - not anymore.

I've really made sure of that, and my one true mistake will of course be letting anyone in in the first place. I get what I deserve though, I guess. I think maybe I shouldn't want it quite this much though. I think it's just a little sick to crave your own demise like the light of dawn, but it's all I have and I think death is what I deserve.

I think even more that I shouldn't care.

So I don't, and it's rather simple with Vic Fuentes and all thoughts revolving him pushed firmly to the back of my head, leaving me to pray that they stay there just long enough for my sanity to shine through.

And the silence is filled by nothing and the blade in my palm; tight enough to cause blood to trickle out as the metal makes contact with my skin. It hurts; it's a good kind of hurt - it's the kind of hurt I need.

"Changed your mind?" I darted up like several volts of electricity had been rushed through my veins with very little regard for warning or the effect the aforementioned may have upon me. Opening my eyelids at the voice, I found Mike sat beside me, eyebrows raised and focused upon my heavily bleeding arm.

"About what- oh." I looked to the cliff, and how I'd subconsciously wandered here, and how I presumed it had in turn led me to Mike once more. "I don't quite know - I am considering it though.... it's more of a when than an if."

"I see." Mike nodded, glancing at my blood stained arm, and looking far too calm for his character to remain anything but highly and almost dangerously suspicious. "Do you want me to worry about the fact that your arm's bleeding at a threateningly rapid rate or do you want me not to care?"

"I want you to tell me who the fuck you are and why I keep meeting you - especially when I want to die entirely, and- it's sort of like you're here to make me change my mind, and I don't like that at all!" I found myself screaming my words out at him, which was far from my desired effect, however thankfully, he seemed to just take it all in his stride and pass the entire situation off as nothing.

"Kellin, I gave you the option of jumping. You didn't take it." He let out a sigh, clearly just as tired of my bullshit as the rest of the world was; I of course, didn't blame him. "I'm Mike, you know that, and you keep meeting me because our paths keep crossing that's in no way in my control."

"But you always seem to be here when I am." I pushed my point further, my paranoia and suspicion running amok and purging all rationality, rendering me in nothing short of a damn fucking mess.

"That's up to your own interpretation though isn't it?" He pushed his words forward far too calmly; leaving him with the effect of sounding far too much like some kind of dysfunctional hippie, which then once again pressed the question as to whether he was high right now.

"No, it's up to the fact that you seem to be stalking me-" I corrected him, my words harsh in tone, but he really didn't seem to have an awful lot of time for my complaints.

"Dude, chill." He raised his eyebrows at me, scanning me up and down in a way that really didn't cease to render me anything short of incredibly uncomfortable and just a little jittery.

"So who the fuck are you then - like half the time you don't even feel real and I really would like some reassurance that I haven't quite gone crazy enough to start hallucinating yet." Part of me would be entirely and horribly reassured with the fact that this guy wasn't real, though, because he was fucking crazy, and he didn't fail to make me nervous, but not in the way Vic did- this guy, knew. He just knew where he was coming from, so everything nervous was just a little bit more personal.

"If I say I'm real will you calm down a little?" He let out an agitated sigh as he forced his words out in the least patronising manner he could muster.

"Depends if you mean it." I shrugged it off.

"That, again, is totally up to your own interpretation." Could fucking cut the bullshit for more than a second or was this guy just begging for a punch to the face? Either was good for me so it was really very much his decision.

"Can you just speak like you aren't fucking stoned for one fucking moment- are you stoned?" My eyes widened as I took in his appearance, searching for any tell-tale signs.

"That I can guarantee you. I don't do weed, but whether you want to think I do is your own choice, let me remind you." So he's saying I can believe or not believe in the fact that he does weed. Judging by that, I definitely believe he does weed.

"Can't you make any sense whatsoever?"

"I think I make perfect sense - the fact that you think otherwise is nothing to do with me." I think it very much is, considering the whole situation is revolving around him.

"Can you just make sure I don't end up getting convinced to go home tonight, because right now that's the last thing I want to do - I just want to die. I feel empty and everything hurts - I want to die and nothing is going to stop me this time, not some stupid asshole of a boyfriend or you and your psychic persuasion nonsensical ways- I just want to die. Why is that so hard?"

"The human body is meant to defend and repair itself... in the same way that cuts heal and make scars. Your whole body is trying to keep you alive and here you are just fighting against it."

"Are you making fun of me?" I wasn't quite sure how to react to the one precious gem amidst his marijuana influenced ramblings.

"No. It's not the most logical of decisions, but I have to admire your perseverance in the matter. You are determined in ending this - that's for sure." At least he got that, unlike Vic.

"Not determined enough." I grumbled in response. "Because I'm still alive aren't I?"

"Hmm... I think you're determined, if my opinion matters to you." It does, Mike, really, it doesn't.

"Don't give me all that positive you are strong bullshit because I don't want to get all big headed and put this off another night, because it's just not worth it. Life is not worth all the mess and heartache." I pressed my words forward, hoping he fucking get it this time around.

"Heartache?" He raised his eyebrows in a manner that made me a little uneasy. "Something to do with this boyfriend of yours?"

"Yeah." I sighed, clutching tightly around the blade in my hand and jolting at the sudden blood release. "Fuck." I dropped the blade in shock, the metal burying itself amongst the blades of grass, leaving me to wonder if this'd be the second friend I'd lose by being around Mike.

"You want me to do something about that... and your arm?" His eyes travelled up my arm in an uncomfortable manner.

"No." I snapped out far too fast and without thought. "I want you to leave me be."

"That shit could get infected and trust me - you don't want that." He met me with convincing eyes, eyes that I didn't like, because they were eyes that reminded me far too much of Vic's.

"Maybe I won't be breathing long enough for that." I shrugged the matter off.

"Maybe." He continued. "But in case you are - I would recommend you at least bandage that shit so it can't get dirt in it and the like."

I shrugged once again, unfazed by every single fucking word that left his lips. "What's the point?" I continued before he could come up with some irritatingly witty comment to answer my mainly rhetorical question with. "I don't see the point to anything anymore."

"Maybe you're just looking from the wrong angle." He suggested in a mind numbingly metaphorical manner.

"I could be blind."

"You could." He nodded.

"I just can't stop fucking cutting though." I admitted out of nowhere.

"You're addicted - it's understandable."

"And my boyfriend he doesn't deserve to have to fucking bandage my arm up every time he sees me and he doesn't deserve to walk in on me and he doesn't deserve to have stop this just fuck- everything just hurts and people are a hassle - I just don't want to deal with this anymore at all."

"He may not deserve to do that, but I don't think you deserve to be left alone, or die, or whatever you may think."

"I disagree." I let out a sigh. "How do you not freak out or care about the fact that I want to kill myself... you're just not like everyone else."

"I agree with you on that, but not in the way that you might think."

"So, what? Are you fucking imaginary then?" I snapped at him, dreading his response simply for just how inclusive it would of course be.

"Depends what you consider imaginary."

"Meaning I made you up in my head." I rolled my eyes.

"No, I can assure you that you didn't make me up in your head." Well, isn't he not imaginary then?

"Well, that's kind of reassuring, I guess." I shrugged, wondering if this guy was even vaguely sane at all. "What would you do if I jumped off that cliff right now?"

"What would you want me to do?"

"Nothing."

"Then I would do nothing."

"I find that hard to believe." I admitted, knowing that he was in fact human; therefore he would have to do something.

He shrugged, far too indifferent to my words to make me anything but uneasy. "Belief is again a matter of perspective."

"I would be dead though, so what you did wouldn't matter."

"Not to you maybe, but others possibly." He mused.

"So you're okay with the fact that I could just jump at any moment." My eyes widened, still entirely unconvinced by his words.

"Okay isn't the word I'd use... indifferent, perhaps?"

I nodded, taking a deep breath as I got to my feet. "Okay, then. Mike, put on your best indifferent face."

And then I discovered that the edge of the cliff was my favourite part of all.

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