suicidal

Emotions stomp on my throat late at night.

Nothing bright in my room except my phone

light.

Thinking about a blade to my soft

porcelain skin.

Feeling like a battle I'll probably never win.

Nobody is awake for me to communicate.

My fingers await the moment I begin to

mutilate.

I can't get the help that I need so I'll just carve

and poke fun design.

Inflicting self pain, something I'll never resign.

As my tears dry they leave a film on my face.

Thin and white like beautiful ripped lace.

I don't want to be on this earth anymore.

Wish I could find an easy exit door.

A few people would miss me,

And all that I used to be.

All I can think about is the moment when the

skin begins to split open under the blade.

These thoughts make me live my life in shade.

I truly wish somebody knew what to say,

Just the right thing to make it all go away.

But that's just not possible virtually any day.

My cranium quakes to be in little chunks.

Or maybe even large bloody hunks.

I would like to sleep at the moment but I am

too dead Inside.

From everyone normal, I attempt to hide.

Just wish there was something to numb my

pain,

Aside from the obvious bullet in brain.