I stand broken, please God hear my cries.

It's three am, and the girl can't sleep. She's been reading for God knows how long, trying to keep her mind away from the tightening in her chest, but she just can't ignore it any longer. It's spreading from her chest to her throat, to her stinging eyes; it's taking over her.
She can feel the itching on her wrist, taunting, teasing, begging for a razor to pass by and simply gush the skin open, for a sharp object to penetrate, damage, break the skin apart and simply let the blood pour out, for all that she's feeling, all that has happened.
She knows she's fucked up; she's known that ever since the first time she'd self-harmed. Lately, it's been worse, though, because, at first, she did it without acknowledging it - like that time when she broke her earphones and simply punched the wall until she couldn't feel her knuckles, or that one time when she lost her cellphone and punched every passing surface she found, until her hand was bleeding -, but, in tenth grade, it had changed.
It all went from some mindless self-beating, to conscient self-hate, the beauty in deforming her own skin being appealing, as she saw no other options to ease the pain.
The first time, it had been hard and awkward, and she'd barely made any damage; she picked a x-acto and cut the back of her hand briefly, barely bleeding. The second time, it had been on her wrist; same object, just that tad bit deeper. From that day on, she did it whenever things got too much, instead using her shaving razors, that cut deeper and faster, and made her bleed more, and hurt more.
Lately, she hasn't cut... No, she's resorted to simply scratch her wrist, planting her nails there with such force, that there are visible marks once she's done. The marks aren't visible the next day, which leaves her free from any explanations or any excuses, but the pain is still there, and she finds herself pressing on the damaged skin only to feel it all over again.
She doesn't want to do this, she wants music to be enough to keep her from doing this, but she can't... There's nothing that can keep her from this.
Well, there was... but not anymore. Love is something she can't trust anymore, because it only broke her down, again; it only tore her apart, managing to destroy the remains of sanity and of her heart.
She's not even sure what she's able to trust to keep her from simply giving up; it's not that she doesn't want to, it's not that the lyrics to her favourite songs are keeping her here... She simply feels guilty.
She doesn't want to go, and hurt her family, her friends; possibly disappoint her idols and heroes. Still, the idea sounds really alluring, and she just doesn't see sense anymore.
She doesn't know if being here is for the best, anymore; she's only hurting, bothering others with her problems, intruding on people's lives.
She stops for a while, leaning her head in her hands as she thinks... she doesn't really want to give up, does she?
She's not even sure, anymore.
The girl looks outside, in search for the bright almost full moon she had seen the previous night, but clouds have taken over the dark sky, and she's faced with nothing but obscurity... it's as if the night outside portrays her own obscure soul.
Sighing, she looks back at her laptop's screen, feeling the frown on her face, her chest hurting even more as tears are starting to find their way to the outside. She's tearing apart at the seams.
She wants to sing out loud, to scream, to simply cry out loud and beg for something - anything - to save her. She dares to look at the sky outside, once again, this time with a prayer upon her lips that she doesn't spill; she knows that who's up there can hear her, anyway.
«I just need something more» she thinks, clenching her jaw as her breath gets caught in her throat, the sobs that she wants to let out disabling her from her normal breathing pattern. «I know you've already given me music, my friends... but I need more.»
She feels selfish and greedy asking for more, asking for another reason to live, but she simply can't run on these things for long; she needs something stronger, something that'll prove to her she's worth living. She needs someone to love her like she's never been loved, she needs to feel wanted, to feel desired, to feel beautiful. She needs to feel like she's worth, like she's not useless, like she's needed.
She just needs to feel.

He does every time.