I find no purpose in returning home. I find no purpose in living. I don't want to go back to that monster. The drug queen that lay like a fiery dragon surrounded by it's smokey clouds, who sat on her pot of gold, all high and mighty. Fortunately, her sense of security and protection of her prized possessions are nonexistent.

Sigh.

I watch the mesmerizing sight of puffy vapour produced from my breath. I take another deep whiff, disconnecting it from my lips and getting lost in the cloudy mess. A departed bus drives by, taking along with it the clouds of marijuana.

I burn the marijuana cigarette butt out, tossing it on the ground and stomping on it. Once the last bus leaves campus, I decide it the suitable time to head back.

As expected, she's knocked cold. Her snow white skin an unnatural pale shade, and in tangled in her numb fingers an empty bottle of strong vodka. Most likely mixed with marijuana. Scattered bottles decorated the floor, leaving a disgusting stench lingering in the air. Unpaid bills lay on the oak coffee table, wine stains and tears leaving their marks.

I trudged to my room, introduced to the usual "daily hate note" that mocked me as it hung lazily on my door.

You're a
worthless
piece of shit.
Literally.
:)

"Racist asshole," I murmured, angrily ripping and crumpling the note, tossing it in the trash. I slumped down to the cold tile floor, left to cradle myself in my own lonely arms.

"Fuck you," I grumble to no one.

"Fuck you," I speak louder.

Sigh.

"FUCK YOU!" I scream my lungs out. I scream at that monster. I scream at god. I scream at my life. I scream at my nonexistent dad. I scream at my school. I scream at myself. I scream until my throat dries up and I'm caught up in a coughing fit.

And then theres that familiar feeling. That familiar calling. I scratch my arm. Oh, that wonderful, familiar feeling when I do that. I scratch at it again. Again and again and again. But it wasn't enough. I scratch faster, harder, faster, harder. I scratch so fast and hard that my scarred skin slowly begins to give in. Blood slowly begins trickling out of my old scabs. Yet it still wasn't enough! I search in the bathroom cabinets for it. The metal monster. Only it can cure this feeling, only it understands how I feel. I only open up to it. Nobody else.

I found it.

"Why? Why? Why?" The same question that repeats in my head, that replays in my mind like a certain song stuck in your head. I clutch onto my bandaged arms. "Why did you make me?" I ask god again. I don't believe that one so powerful exists, but there must be someone to blame for all this bullshit, right?

I lie in my bed, eyes awake and staring into the darkness of the room. I stare at it so long that eventually, it feels as though the darkness was staring at me. Looking down at this poor, unfortunate soul that lay, looking for a way out of life. So done with all. This. Bullshit.

"Why?" I hear the sound of my voice crack up, until a a rushing waterfall that hid was released, sending tears streaming down my eyes like no tomorrow. All my pain, all my suffering, all my hopelessness and sorrow formed as a stream.

I cried. I cried and cried and cried. I flipped my pillow to the dry side, hiding my flood like I usually do. The tears came nonstop, until eventually they lulled me to a deep sleep.