He Cried When I Left, Which I

Nothing In My Life Has Ever Made Me Want To Commit Suicide More Than People's Reaction To My Trying To Commit Suicide.

Then I Break A Glass And I Slit My Very Innermost Thigh So That I Can Pretend That I'm Menstru--- Well, Unavailable.

I Smile To Myself Knowing That They May Be Dead.

And, What's More, This 'precious' Body, The Very Same That Is Hooted And Honked At, Demeaned Both In Daily Life As Well As In Ever Existing Form Of Media, Harrassed, Molested, Raped, And, If All That Wasn't Enough, Is Forever Poked And Prodded And Weighed And Constantly Wrong For Eating Too Much, Eating Too Little, A Million Details Which All Point To The Solitary Girl, To Every Solitary Girl, And Say: Destroy Yourself.

Oh, And I Certainly Don't Suffer From Schizophrenia. I Quite Enjoy It. And So Do I.