When i used to think about this

A Poem by Babieegirl

suicide is no joke, you guys. We're not attention hungry. We're

If you looked through my things,
how many wills would you find?
Letters from the dead?
Too many to count?
Or too many to look through?
Is it the same?
Or is it just me
that does these things?
I've always wondered,
why do i think like this?
Why am i crying out to people
when i shove them away?
Do i want them to go,
Or help me and stay?
My world has never been so torn
but listen to me now,
i've grown out of these things,
or maybe i just learned how to cope with it,
but listen to me,
that's the old me.
fixing a temporary mistake
with a permanent solution.
is not right.
Listen to me,
no.
Don't listen to me.
Talk to me.
Please.