Letters to You

It was a Friday night and once again Diane was home alone. It had been three weeks since she had last seen him, but she could still feel his arms around her. 1

Diane knew it was an addiction. It was worse than the pot and worse than the speed. It was worse than the cutting and much worse than the burning. She gently,lovingly fingered his picture, knowing that she needed him, knowing that she had to have him.2

She sighed and flipped her lighter open and shut, open and shut, remembering his burning touch. Diane loved him and wanted him and needed him, but couldn't have him. She growled low in her throat and touched the picture to flame and watched it burn. Her room was dark and the burning picture threw eriee shadows across the floor. Diane shivered and cradled the burning picture in her scarred hands, savoring the burning, stinging pain. 3

She didn't cry. She didn't smile,she just let the picture burn and crumble to ashes as she stared into space.4

"I will write you a letter Josh. I will write you a letter and sign it in blood and seal it with a tear." She blew the ashes from her hands and watched them waft gently to the floor. She flipped the lighter open again and gently touched the flame, caressing it, loving it, needing it, just as she needed him. It was a dark addiction and it ran deep. She needed him, and hated him, and loved him all the same. She sighed another traitorous breath of air and walked slowly, calmly to her bathroom. 5

And there she lay cooling her flushed cheeks on the clean, white towel. She laid there and sobbed, silently choking on her pain. Her tears pooled like diamonds and became one with the sterile white bathroom. A bathroom dying to be stained blood red. A bathroom dying to be stained by Diane's blood.6

She reached out a shaking hand and desperatly groped for her razor. A thin, desperate smirk traced her features as she longingly stroked the silver blade. She took a deep breath and started to cut, and started to stain. Her blood pooled wine red, obscuring the diamond tears, staining the perfection that had once been her life.7

She cut and she cut, staining her clothes, staining her skin. She cut and sighed and slowly cried, lying alone in a pool of her own blood. She cut across and diagnol. She made shapes and wrote words and watched the blood run it's race. She cut through her scars and across her face, and went back over all the places she had missed. She cut and she cut untill she could cut no more and then she flung the razor across the once white room. 8

She stood up and leaned over her bright, white sink, she fumbled for the clatch on the medicine cabinet. With shaking hands she grabbed a bright, orange botttle and tried to open it. It was stuck. She screamed once, a high blood curdling scream of desperation and rage and slammed the bottle against the mirror. She gasped and and shivered as white pills and broken glass rained down on her bloodstained form. 9

She tried to scream and failed, nearly choking on the hoarse cry she emitted. She yanked at the door and stumbled into the perfect kitchen. She ripped drawer after drawer out, searching for a way out, searching for a rabbit hole. 10

She thrust her hand into a drawer and was welcomed by the immediate pain. She grabbed a knife and stumbled, wearily to the bathroom, trailing blood and sorrow behind her. 11

She raised the knife, fully intending to plunge it into her own broken heart, but stopped as a single tear traced it's way down her bloodstained cheek. She sighed and set the knife down. She walkly slowly, as though in a trance and searched methodically for a pen and a sheet of paper. She bowed her head and stumbled back to the bathroom in defeat. She took up her knife and began to carve.12

"I wrote you a letter Josh and signed it in blodd and sealed it with a tear. I loved you Josh and i bled for you. I wrote you a letter, Josh, I wrote you a letter on my skin. I signed it in blood and sealed it with a tear. And i will always love you Josh." She lifted her finger and slowly signed her name, using the blood that came from her hand. 13

She sighed and lifted her knife. She started to shake and slowly plunged the knife into her broken, but still beating heart.14

And so Diane died,lying in blood and broken glass and prescription pills. And so Diane died, with a letter written on her skin, sighned in blood, and sealed with a tear.15