this is a little story like thing that should make people think about the severely depressed teen out there...................because they can be a friend..............(because maybe im one of those teens)
They're fighting again. My parents, that is. They're always fighting, but I usually tune them out with my stereo, pounding out different genres of rock music. And sometimes, I drown them out with other things.......
But, they're to busy fighting to notice how much I'm hurting. They're to busy fighting to notice the greusome scars that are scattered around my wrists and legs. They're to busy to notice the dialated pupils and the stench of alcohol spewing from their only daughters mouth. My mouth.
They're to busy fighting to notice the blood pouring from my wrists, my legs. They're to busy fighting to notice that I'm bleeding to death.
They fought so much and that was their biggest mistake, for they were to busy fighting to notice that in their daughter's room, sorrounded by a pool of blood, is their daughter's body, lying against a wall.