Has it ever occurred to you how much better I've been?
But, then again...
Have you realized how much I've relapsed?
Everyday I think,
'Can I die yet, please?'
'Is there on less person that I have to worry about hurting?'
Sometimes I plot my death.
Where do I cut first?
Thighs? Wrist? Neck?
What do I take first?
Oxy? Prazosin? Codeine?
What will I use?
Blade? Pills? Gun? Fire?
And then, who will I hurt the most?
My mom? My best friend? Nobody?
And then I realize,
'What will they tell my nephews?'
And I have to stop myself for them.
