Pure. Fucking. Red.

Something needs to burn.

Something needs to die.

Something needs to bleed,

To tear,

To shatter.

_(Preferably me)_

What if I grabbed a steak knife and painted my arms and legs and stomach in red?

What if I struck a match and watched my skin boil, watched the stars disappear to smoke?

What if I screamed until my lungs gave out, peeled my skin off, smashed my fists and feet through the walls of my room?

Then they’d all understand.

I wouldn’t need words, useless fucking words.

They would know. They would see what my head is like.

Would they lock me up?

Or would I slip away first?

Escape this shitstorm people call being alive?

What would happen?

Could I make it out…?