I sat there as a single, angry tear burned down my cheek. I was in my closet, just as i’d been many times before. I locked myself in and threw myself on the floor, my fists clenched tightly. I pounded the floor, the wall, and anything else worth pounding.
I only stopped pounding when I had an epiphany.

I don’t care… I honestly do not care…

I felt a wicked grin spread across my face. I began laughing a creepy, sick laugh as I started looking for a pair of scissors. I finally found them; they were under my bed, where I’d thrown them the last time I used them. I felt the wicked smile growing even larger across my face. Part of me was sickened, but the majority of me loved it. Loved it for hating myself.

I don’t care anymore…

I stabbed, stabbed as hard as I could. Somehow the pain didn’t satisfy me enough. I wanted more, much more. I was enraged, and began looking for a box of matches. When I found them, I lit my bed and jumped in, letting the heat envelope me.