I lay on the hard cold floor,
wanting to die, more and more.
I think of the hard times that last,
and that joyful times that past.
I wish and cry,
hoping that I would one day die.
For now though, I stoke my blade deaply across my arm,
wishing this will cause me harm.
Thinking, wanting you back,
a dad to hug, a dad to love.
This is what runs through my head,
everytime I think about suicide.
Everytime I think about cutting.
I return back to reality,
knowing I will never have another chance.
Seeing my skin sliced open,
Knowing my heart broken.
Feeling my blood leaking out,
Seeing my reflection in the blade,
Hearing my mom screaming for me to wake up,
And then my mind went blank,
Waking up a century later,
seeing people smiling around me,
wondering where I am wishing I wasnt there,
Feeling my arms aching,
seeing stitches on me,
I tried to commit suicide,
but god gave me another chance.
Wishing he had just let me die,
I lay there and cry. |
