I bolt from the classroom,
Feet pounding down the
Cement sidewalk.
I enter the gym
And then turn the corner to the bathroom.
I dart into an empty stall
And lock the door.
Then I slowly slump back
Against the wall,
On the floor,
And hug my knees to myself.
The tears cascade down my
Already-wet cheeks.
They lazily plop onto my
Folded hands.
Annoyed,
I brush my eyes fiercely.
But it doesn't stop the
Flood.
I dig into my pocket
And find the little knife
That I carry every day.
I pop up the blade
And stare at it,
Glittering in the
Florescent overhead lights.
I roll up one sleeve
Of my hooded sweatshirt
And press the blade
To my soft, scarred skin.
I drag it along the flesh,
But I can barely feel the
Skin splitting,
The blood seeping out.
The tears continue to flow;
I cut again.
And again.
And again.