Ok here's some more then. You are keeping me writing. Could you tell me your thoughts?

My alarm woke me with a start, to cold sheets and bloody lips. I reached around confusedly in the dark so I could smack my alarm clock and go back to sleep. I groped for the alarm clock and accidently swiped it off my bedside table. The plastic broke with a clash and I sat up in the pitch darkness of my room.


I could taste the salty blood on my mouth and feel the cold dried sweat on my hairline, and that rid me of my doubts. Last night was not a dream, no matter how much I wanted to think it was, it happened and it was now my disturbing reality. The palms of my hands were bruised and had a continuous pricking sensation going through them, and the backs of my hands were reddened, the skin over my knuckles stretched out and pale white, apparently from the vigorous flexing of my fists. My hair was tangled into black horrifying knots and dried tears stuck to my face.


I got out of bed to switch on the light and almost blinded myself in the process, squinting to adjust to the new light after several hours of darkness. I could see my bruised and stinging hands now clearly and I could see the knotted ends of my hair, like blackened Brillo pads. I reached up and touched my neck, just to make sure I hadn’t imagined it all.


My wounds were still there, but the instant burning I got when I had first touched them was gone, and I didn’t know whether to be thankful or frightened for that. I looked down at my palms, they were red and raw from the grip on my bed last night and had bruises on them from God knows what. I flipped my hands over. The skin was stretched out over the knuckles and the bone showed a translucent white under the flesh, from the tense fists curls and the strenuous gripping of the bed posts in order to endure my grueling torture that was last night.


I licked my lips and could taste the saltiness of the ruby red blood in my mouth. It was delicious and it terrified me that I wanted more. I wiped the rest off of my lips with the back of my hand and put it to my mouth. I was scaring myself, but it was just too good.


I could smell the salty, alluring aroma of my own blood and it pulled me in like a tornado swallowing a city. It smelled of salt and red roses, I smelled of salt and red roses. This was me, my AB positive and I wanted it like I had never wanted anything before.


I walked over to my dresser and pulled out a pair of scissors from the bottom drawer. I held the scissors tightly in my left hand acting only on instinct, selfish, masochistic instinct. I took the scissors and stabbed them right into my right forearm, drawing a line, only an inch away from the vein that ran through my arm. The blood dripped out slowly and I squeezed the cut to make it come a little faster, it was luscious, rich, and insanely beautiful. My lips touched my self inflicted wound and I sucked all the blood right out of my skin. It was delectable. And I was so engulfed in this new craving that I wasn’t even scared anymore.


After I sucked out all of my blood that I could something ran through me, and I stopped dead in my tracks. I was frozen and in my head I was a vision, a crystal clear picture. It was so real, so there, I wanted to reach out and touch him.


A young boy, around my age maybe a little older, with black hair and icy blue eyes. He stared at me and called me to him. I wanted to come but I couldn’t. “Lela,” he called to me in the most sensuous voice I had ever heard. It was like rain falling on a rooftop, or water flowing down a stream, and it was the most beautiful sound in the entire world. “Lela,” he called once more, “come here, we need you.” And then he left out of the darkness of my mind with a swish of his mauve cape.


I stood there paralyzed in time, until I blinked my eyes twice and realized what I was doing, or better yet, what I had done. I looked down at my arm, the fine lined gash with dried blood, and put my hand to my mouth in horror. What had I become? I had just cut myself, (another reason for the word “emo” to dance around me at school) and then lapped up the blood. But why would I do that and what caused me to? I had no thoughts running through me at the time, right? I knew what I wanted and I got it. But I never get what I want.


A hundred thoughts swirled through me at once as I stared at the cut on my arm. But one thing was certain, I had to go to that prison they call school today, and I was utterly dreading it. I stepped out of my coma and went to the bathroom to wash my face, checking my mother’s room to make sure she was still asleep. Her steady breathing under her white goose down comforter, and her peacefully shut eyes, party obscured by her dirty blond hair assured me she was sound asleep. The bathroom showed no remains of last night, which still seemed like a dream.Ok here's some more then. You are keeping me writing. Could you tell me your thoughts?
Good good. I don't really get the young boy thingy. But it soooo good :)