Four. Eight. Twelve. Sixteen. Twenty.

How many depends on the day.

Most days it's twelve.

Twelve crescent moon marks.

They never stay longer than a few days. They've never bled. The blood leads to scars.

Today it was only four. Today was a good day. Today they were gone in a few hours.

There's no telling what tomorrow might bring. No telling how many will be there then.

The most it's ever been was twenty. That was a bad day. There would have been more if it wasn't for the savior I have found.

You want to hear something crazy?

You seem to be one of the only things that keeps the crescent moon marks from bleeding. Yet, you're also the one that puts them there.

Sometimes, I wish that the darkness could fully take me. I wish that the dark side could just devour me whole.

But for some reason, the little part of me will never stop fighting. Now matter how tired that little part gets, no matter how broken or bruised, it keeps fighting. And I don't know why. There really isn't anything left for me to fight for.

I mean, it's not like anyone would care if all the sudden I disappeared. They probably wouldn't even cry. They might even throw a party. You all say I mean something to you, but do I? Do I really? Cause you all have a funny way of showing it.

I used to get so mad at people for treating me like I was a porcelain doll or a piece of shattered glass. But now I realize, I am exactly those things. I'm broken beyond repair. I'm cracked in two, split in half. I realize that now.

So go ahead! Try to break me! Hit me! Yell at me! Scream at me! Call me anything you want to! Tell me every mistake I've ever made!

You can't break me anymore. I have nothing to loose so come on. Take your best shot. Hit me with the hate.

I'm, in a way, unbreakable. That's how broken I really am.

Four. Eight. Twelve. Sixteen. Twenty.

How many depends on the day.

Peace for now. Stay alive.

9/3/18