When I was eight,
I thought I'd be the happiest soul out there
I was smart and funny and athletic
Everyone loved me

When I was ten,
I had the most friends out of everyone
I wouldn't let a speech impediment stop me
I had an amazing poetry class
(Maybe that's why I love this site more than I love myself)

When I was twelve,
I had a smaller, closer group of friends
I had a girlfriend that I had loved
And grades to boast about

When I was fourteen,
I didn't have many friends. I had a new girlfriend
At least I did good in all of my classes still.
I was confused to hear that people were depressed

And now, now that I'm fifteen? Where do I even start?
With the constant mental manipulation
With three of four girlfriends?
Where the cutting started and grew?
A failed suicide attempt?
Grades slipping, friendships ruined?
Trust lost, almost running away twice?
But nah. I'm not depressed. My parents insist it.

When I was eight,
I thought I'd always have a friend I could trust
But here I am now, not even trusting myself.

When I was ten,
I thought there were only happy poems
But here I am now, writing this.

When I was twelve,
I thought that one special person would always love me
But here I am now, with 4 bitter exes.

When I was fourteen,
I thought I'd never be depressed,
But
Here
I
Am
Now.

Now that I'm fifteen?
I don't even know what to think.
Whatever it is, there's an 80% chance the opposite will happen
So I think I will commit suicide before I turn sixteen.
But then again, 20% is still a reasonable statistic.

Anyways, point is,
Never in my life, did I, Logan Cestare,
Think I'd be sitting in the bathroom
Cleaning up my own blood that I spilled
At three in the morning

Never in my life did I think
I'd turn out this way.

From talking for six hours at a time
To six minutes
To six messages
To six words
To six days ago

What happened?

He's a parasite
A plague in my mind
Something I hardly noticed at first
I tried to help him

His successes were my successes
His problems were my problems
His depression became my depression
I became him

I helped him, I think
But at what cost of my own?
My life revolving around his
He was priority number 1

Grades slipped
Sleep schedule slipped
Trust slipped
Social life slipped

And all the while
Everything was slipping away
I held onto him
Longer than I should have

But by the time he left
He had planted a seed in my mind
A sapling of suicidal thoughts
Sprouting to a beautiful tree

Knitted with knives
Decorated with drugs
Stuffed with starvation
Loaded with lighters

A fruitful product
Hopefully it'll die out soon
Maybe it won't
Maybe I'll be first.

When I was a little Cub Scout
I was taught to handle knives with care
Stay safe while using them
Only use them when permitted

When I was a little Cub Scout
I thought all of this was redundant
Common sense anyone should know
Because who would ever put themself in harm's way?

When I was a little Cub Scout
I didn't quite grasp depression
People who whittle down things
Other than soap bars and sticks

But when I was a Boy Scout
With my very first knife in my hands
And my very first cut on my arm
I understood why these rules were set.

When I was a Boy Scout
That first cut was accidental
But yet something stuck with me
A wandering thought found its home in my head

When I was a Boy Scout
The cuts became less and less accidental
An addiction growing onto me
A desire to feel something

If I were to die tonight
Everyone would miss me
Say how much they cared about me
Say they couldn't believe it happened to me

But really, where were you all six months ago?
Or even six hours ago?
I don't exactly hide my feelings well.
Cries for help are ignored all the time.

If you didn't care about me then,
Why the hell do you care about me now?
You could have done something to help!
Anything!

People don't understand the power
Of three simple words
"Are you okay?"
Nobody does.

You all would care for a week
If not less than that
And then immediately go back
I'd get forgotten again.

Most nights I'm up till two, three, four
Wondering where I'll be
In ten, fifteen, twenty years
But some nights
I wonder if I'll make it that far

You tell me these blades are dangerous
You tell me they can ****

But little do you realize
It's my thoughts that really will.