The slices I stow are on my wrist in a row,

they will turn to quiet grieving scars,

even if my heart is crying out for help.

No one can hear me, no one would care.

No one would ask me, no one would dare.

Coming off as a tough girl, they are deceived.

I am really just scared, but I am care free.

I fret the day I face my fears because it is a mystery.

You shall fret too, because one day there will be a note to read,

that thanks my friends and family,

I’ll apologize for my being and again I will thank you all so much.

At the end of the day, I’ll be dead from pills, drugs, and such.

Many will realize that this happy girl was sad,

Now they might feel like this was all of there bad.

I lied to everyone, saying “I’m fine.”

So it’s my bad, I had crossed the line.

Don’t care, don’t mourn for it was a mistake that I was even born.

You soon will find my used utensils,
such as my scissors, bands, and razorblades.

Take good care they were my treasure.

The death I chose was a mix of two.

The pills are on the dresser, and the razor is in my hand.

Please forgive me, I just wanted to be free!
Is that a lot for my family and friends to see?
Disappointment is probably on your mind,

I know how one could get confused,
when their daughter says she’s fine.

When I am purging for perfection, hoping I’ll soon die.

Hugging that cold porcelain, puking up my problems.

I step onto the scale, and I cry at what I see,
For I have an addiction, that is slowly killing me.

My friends would try to help, but I told them I didn’t need it.

I kept things to myself, so I wouldn’t cry for help.

Help was never given, because I would sit and sin in silence,

People thought I was “fake” for the way I was feeling,

That’s where they were wrong, they thought I wouldn’t do it, well look now.

I’m dead, and my life ended with Suicide.