I laid in bed with this sharp blade,
Hoping that I wouldn't have to cut myself and that I would just decay,
But it didn't come and I held that blade up to the window light,
Thinking about the things I could do, the things I might,
I drew it to my wrist and carved in my skin trying not to cry,
I missed you I couldn't forget, but that night I felt so bad,
That I had to DIE.
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