Sitting here I cut my thigh
I'm on the verge, I want to die
I'm not Ok but I always lie
Oh please, this rope, take me so high.
Hanging up here I think of you
Upon that rope I'm turning blue
I don't touch the ground, not even a shoe
This is the happiest thing that I could do.
Away from the world so cruel
No need to bear the pain of school
For loving thyself, there is no rule
I'm done with myself, and having to dule.
YOU ARE READING
Its Getting Harder to Breathe
PoetryA poem book on whatever at the moment ...self harm is a topic in here sometimes. I am not trying to trigger anyone, so if you are in a vulnerable state, take caution.
