MISCELLANEOUS

tired.

there's a knife in my hand
with that i make a choice
cut or no cut; live or die

i remember the times clearly
the pain was too much
so i cut; i died

i long for that back
the type of pain that's physical
it hurts less than my mental scars

i know i'd regret the cut
so i sit here writing instead
while i contemplate how much i care

the knife is right there
i don't have to cut deep
no one has to know

but they would find out anyway
right?
they always find out

i can't call anyone
it's early in the morning
everyone is asleep

he doesn't want to talk
i have to respect that
right?

i can't breathe
i can't sleep
i can't eat

i'm wearing his hoodie
it feels like he left me already
like he stopped loving me

he doesn't know
that i can't live without him
that i need him

the hoodie smells like him
i wish it was him instead
but i need to respect him

cut or no cut; live or die
i'm tired.
i want it all to stop