"Do you sometimes think you are better off dead?" I listen to the therapist and loose focus at the sight of my wrist, stained red Confusion slowly takes over the thoughts in my head I imagine myself at home, crying on my bed A tear drops on my thigh as I wish I was home Sleeping the day away, hoping to be alone She repeats the question, "Do you sometimes think you're better off dead?" My brain floods with thoughts as I mentally take a bullet to the head
