Drops of Red

It has been a few weeks since I wrote, I have been very busy.

Up until tonight I have only written in my blue Pilot Precise V5 Rolling Ball pen, tonight it is red.

Red like blood. It flows smooth like blood when I write, my thought goes like this because tonight is the first time in ages I had the feeling, "I want to cut, feel blood flowing my arm, to feel alive perhaps." Instead I choose to write this.

I recently found out something I wrote has touched someone. It feels hollow.
Maybe because I feel hollow?

Sometimes I feel more mature but not in a good way. I could do something not bad, per se, but it might just be to benefit myself, to make me happy.
But it wouldn't be right, would it?
I feel alone because of this, something I could to make myself happy and not alone, but I can't do it.

I feel better looking at what I have written before, it begins to fade when I stop reading.

The page I am writing on is now covered in red, as if my blood. No blood flows, only welled up tears show slightly.
I turn the page, red has bled through.

I still ponder what to do, I settle on letting nature run its course and no interfere by poking or prodding my way.
If I am to die, I accept it.



Relationships bring pain, loneliness is constant. Lack of change is easy to conform to.