Suicidal

The knife is my

close friend,

its cool hard blade

smooth and kind in its ways.

The knife doesn't hurt me

but if I give it the chance

i will be gone,

be gone,

for good.

 

I dont know who I am

or what I am

or why I am.

I dont know if I even

deserve to live,

if I even deserve

to breathe.

Because the air

in my lungs

could be going

to better people

than me.

 

No, i have never,

sliced my self up,

cut open my wrist,

bled through the night.

And no, I have never,

thought I would be alright-

I have known my whole life

that I would have to suffer

through the nights.

And, no, I have never

fallen in love

because the one person i loved

was my mother

its all my mothers because...

I'm hurt and I'm dying,

it is all her fault,

I'm dying.

 

Don't expect me to give in,

and dont wait for me to give up,

and dont think

that im ready to fail

this knife in my hand

will wait for the day

I'm ready to go all in.

One crimson line

straight down each wrist

bleed until I can never bleed again

because you know me,

dear friend.

I will suffer through days

because I never do things halfway.