Schedule your Falter

Note: I've posted this before, but I removed it instantly. It was too personal. I mean, it still is. But, in an exaggerated form. Even though I have thought about suicide before, I'm not suicidal, and I've never been diagnosed with depression, or any other instability along its lines. I, although, have always felt worthless, always a little less than everyone else, and lately that's kind of what my posts've been revolving around, because when I write, I write from my core. My core, at the moment, is a black hole. Slightly tormenting, but I'm okay. I don't write for sympathy, and I'm not trying to impose any sort of idea. This is a piece that is simply from my black hole, and I only write to be free. To put myself out there, because I am no longer in fear of what other people may think of how I feel. I'm exhausted, and I feel like crap sometimes, because I'm human and humans do.
But, lets not get ahead of ourselves. This is a schedule from my black hole (Again, not trying to send any sort of message. These are thoughts. Ideas.):

Six thirty AM.

Walk into kitchen.

Inhale ridicule, dash of terror, and a hint of cinnamon.

Six forty AM.

Walk to school.

Gather requirements necessary to suffer the heart burners, the unforgivable comments, the defining remarks, and the dying grades.

Two PM.

A gathering.

Wear a dress of blame, shoes of worthlessness.

Dress the tables with false claims, decorate them with demeaning jokes, and make sure those knives cut deeply. Would be humiliating to hand our guests old knives now, wouldn’t it? 

Smile.

Laugh.

Tear apart.

Fall down.

Lower.

Deeper.

Touched the ground?

Go beneath it.

Four PM.

Lay on bed.

Four PM:

Ready your razors.

Four thirty PM: NOTE: You are as worthless as the ice on the curb, as tiring as a dictator that refuses death, and you are less, smaller, slighter.

Five PM: Falter. Cut.