The Ones You're With

You don't always have to love them. Trust me.

We play friendly, laugh and joke, then end the day by trading insults that cut too deep. Sometimes, I hate being here. They're all so funny and they're all so close. They're all so happy and they're all so smart.

So I'm sitting, silent, dumb, boring and miserable in the corner.

And I can see it. Blood spattered walls, arms cold and limp, eyes empty and dead. Skin ripped by the cold tongue of an angry blade, and me. Chest heaving, eyes wild, a crazed smile slanted across my lips. Reveling in the glory of my work.

I'll finish it later.