I walked to the box and pulled out a blade.
This is it.
This blade is my fate.
So here I stand.
Blade in hand.
I hear no sounds.
No ones home.
The only sounds I hear are those of my brain saying,
"No, no, no
It's not time to go."
But I figure it is.
So I then take the blade to my wrist.
YOU ARE READING
You Can't Save Me. No One Can...
Non-FictionThis is poems about death, suicide, and self harm. Things I've contemplated doing, and have done.
