a hit on the arm
a pull of the hair
another reminder that nobody cares
a burn on the thigh
a slash of the wrist
a sweating forehead, clenched up fists
mocking voices,
in your head
mocking, chanting, wishing you were dead
bottles of pills
empty on the floor
you’re desperately searching, craving some more
you lay in your bed
you take your last breath
and are gently pulled under the blanket of death
