Timeskip to after school

Narrator's P.O.V.

I turn my notebook pages to my first ever poem, the familiar words, brought to my attention, the familiar smell of the ink and pages of my journal, the words I wrote seemingly sprouting to life.

I have relapsed already. And I don't want those dark thoughts to take control of me. I'm lucky I get out of bed (almost) every morning. With the pressure of anxiety and depression pulling me down like a prison trapping inside of my own cold, dark, world. With every step, I take it seemingly gets heavier and heavier, a bigger burden pressing me down, Until I collapse and get back up over and over again... Every day I am blind, I am on an endless search for some kind of hope, even some tiny flicker of hope. That the crushing weight on my back is relieved, that I'll find a flicker of happiness, to lighten this path of emotions... I'm not afraid of dying anymore I'm simply afraid of living.

I felt a tear roll down my cheek, I feel despair, hopelessness, emptiness, my heart feels... empty, gone, as it disappeared with the part of me that... died...

I feel myself, turn the pages to the last page, my hand instinctively holding my pen, I could feel the comforting smoothness of my pen, I could smell the familiar ink, I could feel the natural clicks it made, whenever my mind just had a burning idea, that I had to write on paper, I could feel my hand make out words, words of pain, regret, sadness, anxiety, sorrow, contempt, but there was one word that seemed to be missing, "Love" Ah yes, love, the word missing, like a lost puzzle piece, the one word that brought me comfort, it kept me alive...

I felt my hand brim the bottom of the page, signaling that my work had run out of space, I wrote these words:

I cannot take it anymore, I feel like giving up on the floor, my hand brims my drawer, my hand pulls out my blade, glistening off of my cold, dead eyes.

I barely remember that foreign feeling, of happiness, and joy was like a scarlet, beautiful Rose, but as time began to unwind, the rose slowly died, wilting, until it shriveled up and died,

I feel the knife cut deep wounds into my wrist, trying to feel something in the black abyss of my mind, myself confined in the prison of my mind, I feel my life slowly start to unwind, like the tiny piece of twine grasping onto the lies, that my life was,

I feel-

My eyes scrolled down to the bottom of the page, my writing put to a sudden stop, the last page, of my journal, the years of emotions all in one object.

I swiftly put my journal back under my bed, mentally writing a note to make a new book.

I heard light footsteps approach my door, I could see the knob slowly open, the golden knob glistening in the light of my room.

"HIYA BRO-BRO I HAVE SOME GREAT NEWS!!!!!!!!!!"

"Ah, shit..." My mind worded, nervously.

AUTHOR'S NOTE~

HEY GUYS, SORRY FOR THE TERRIBLE "POEMS" I HAD TO RUSH BECAUSE MY PARENTS SET MY "BEDTIME" AT EIGHT SO SEE YAAAAAAAA GUYSS LATERRR!!!!!!!!!!

~Author Chan