They laughed as I bled.

Not just once—every day, every hallway, every whisper when I passed. My pain became their entertainment. The crimson from my nose that day in the locker room? Hysterical, apparently. The cracked ribs? A punchline.

I kept my silence sharp, feeding it with every bruise, every insult. No one asked if I was okay. Not even when I stopped blinking back tears. Not even when I stopped blinking at all.

But silence is a blade.

And blades are made for carving.

So when the moon hung low and the school was still, I returned—not with fists, but with purpose. They thought they’d buried me in shame. But I had dug my way out, dragging behind me a rusted grin.

One by one, I found them. I didn’t scream. I didn’t rage. I smiled.

And I carved.

Not their skin—not yet. I carved the joy from their throats. The laughter. The smug little smirks. The giggles they shared as I bled on linoleum.

By the time the sun rose, the school was silent.

Finally.

They stopped laughing.

And I stopped bleeding.


ARTWORK BY @farzad_fhn
MASTER BY @im_dispa

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They Laughed As I Bled , I’ll Carve The Joy From Their Throat

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Bleed Ťhe Ǎnguish Øf A Řestless Mind
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One day I hope to find that lost boy, the one swallowed by shadows, his heart stitched with silence. I want to take his hand, pull him from the ache, and show him the light still waits at the edge of all this sorrow. That he is not broken, just bruised, not forgotten, just hiding. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll believe he deserves the sun again

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They Laughed As I Bled , I’ll Carve The Joy From Their Throat

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