I picked up four of your books
From the room of my late best friend
He taught me to enjoy reading poetry
Instead of just writing it.

He told me he liked my poems
I was second next to you.
I was reading your poetry
When he hung himself to "Hallelujah."

I don't enjoy your work the way he did
But I keep and read your books all the same
Because he saw something in your work
So I'll search until I find it as well.

I wonder, if I'd killed myself before I met you, if we'd both be happier now
I'd take the first chance at a do over
I constantly wonder why I chose to do things like this
I constantly want to run as far as I can
As far as the next train station
So that I can stare at the mocking signs
That tell me to keep off the tracks

I wonder, twice a day, three days a week, how you'd react if I simply stepped past the yellow
How much of my blood would replace the yellow safety line
Would everything end in an instant
Would I feel pain
Would I have time to regret
To be as intensely sad as I am now
Would I have the wherewithal
To apologize in my head
But not with my lips

I consider everyone who passes me by
Perhaps they'd love me like this
Perhaps they'd treat me like that
Perhaps maybe possibly somehow
But I have no wishes at home
At home inbox them away and stare at nothing
And feel my heart beat itself to an early death
And wonder
What could possibly
Be taking it so long.

I don't want to be here.
I'm terrified to go.
But that's mattered less, lately.

There was a fork in the path and I chose right
And right was the wrong way to go
I could ponder the holdings that left had to offer
But the wrongs of right are all I know.

There was a fork in the path and I chose the less taken
And it seems it was abandoned for good cause
I could regret and bemoan my decisions now
But I am impossibly and urgently lost.

There was a fork in the path and I deviated from the map
Not a single person told me I'd gone the wrong way
And now I meander down roads not meant for me
Looking for shelter, a place to stay.

I have people to support and impress and make proud
I don't have the time or funds to afford breaking down
So don't take me seriously when I consider the knives too long
I'm an adult now, won't use the pain, am convinced it's wrong

But I do bleed pretty.

I bleed deep red, it's mesmerizing, stains the floor and bed
I bleed like molasses, slow drops hit the ground like lead
I crackle like a fireworks display, bubble up into vertigo
My vision gets hazy and the colors smear and the light glows

But everything gets better and I'm completely reformed
I'm no longer lonely or depressed or feeling unbearably worn
I don't choke back sobs when I'm in a crowd or at home
I don't stare at nothing and feel impossibly alone

But I do bleed pretty.

Now, I'd never touch a knife, never would go back to those days
When blood meandered down my arm in a thousand different ways
I'd never think twice, never consider diving into pain
And no knife on earth calls with a sugar-sweet whisper of my name

I am happy in what and where I've chosen, would never trade
I have no second thoughts, regrets, no uncertain days
I enjoy life, can't begin to fathom why I ever wanted it to end
I am satisfied with the lack of people I have to call friends

But I do bleed pretty.

A drop on the floor becomes a puddle so fast it intrigues me
One towel becomes four, it still smells like copper, isn't clean
The sound of a blade gently coaxing skin apart is bliss
Only heard when blood rushes in and out and all is quiet.

I do bleed pretty.

It is crowded.
People bustle and laugh and speak.
Each of them have lives and dreams and hopes and pains
Each of them have friends and family and love and are loved and
I am alone. I feel lonely.

Please help me.
Words die on the tip of my tongue, incinerated by the lack of a listening ear and
Thoughts die before they form for lack of conversation and
I am alone. I feel lonely.

I feel as though I am spinning into a magnificant crash landing and
Only vibrate to a stop when I am wrapped tightly in arms and
Feel the emptiness crush to a compacted version of itself and
I am alone. I feel lonely.

I stop breathing occasionally and panic when I can't remember how to inhale and
I wonder why I feel relief in those moments, just behind the terror and
I scold myself because I was never brave nor cowardly enough to and
I am alone. I feel lonely.

There was a time when I would bleed emptiness onto my floor and
Slice into my skin with a knife as dull as the world seems to be and
Starve it out of my body with a determined for of will and
I am alone. I feel lonely.

I am empty, exhausted now, too tired to coax the void out of me and
I can no longer remind myself that things will be better as they are not bad and
I instead stare into space and wait until my closed eyes will not reopen and
I am alone. I feel lonely.

If family would turn you away and friends leave you to die
If the world fleece you down and colleagues wring you dry
Find peace and pleasure within yourself, find the strength to try
To be your own family,  friend, and work mate with no help from outside.

.

True self-sufficiency is needing yourself alone
But interacting with others regardless
To ease the heavy loads of life.

.

Remember that life is important in the now
But never in the later or a larger scale.
You are what you make of the present
Despite your past and to shape your future.

.

There is no purpose to life besides what you give it
There is no way to waste time, you're young as **** until you die.

.

Rather than worry what others might think of what you do
Worry instead what you will think of yourself
When you have done everything or nothing at all.

.

This is not a road to sprint or run upon
This is not a marathon or an endurance race
This is simply meandering in the way you choose
You set your own duration and pace.

.

When you can do nothing at all and the world lies on your shoulders
Breathe.
It is all you will ever be required to do.