Within black, its blacker.

I cried myself to sleep last night.
That’s not all though.
I picked up my rusty penknife.
Slashed, for the first time, on my arm.
Over and over.
I felt the burn, but all I did was cry.
Teardrops, falling onto my bolster.
I hugged my pillow tighter.
I knew they would never go away.
The dark ones.
They were playing hide and seek.
Waiting in the dark, making me weak.

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