I can never do it deep enough. Just so that little pockets, little bubbles come out, but never deep enough to really feel the flesh ripping and the blood flowing and I wish I could because I think I’m ready for this to be over. I go to the seventh floor roof of my school almost everyday and think what it would be like to jump off. I think if I ever do, I’ll do it on a hot day, while it’s raining. The black surface of the roof lets off this sweet smelling steam and it feels like magic wrapped all around you. I’d die that way, I’d die swathed in the arms if a thick mist on the top of a school. It’s really bad again, and I get closer and closer to the edge everyday. But I still can’t do it deep enough, still can’t hear the flesh rip or the blood ooze, and in guessing I couldn’t take that last step off the edge either.