but whenever I'm presented with an object
capable of causing harm,
I can't help but envision myself
utilizing it in ways most unpleasant.

In the kitchen when I'm preparing a meal--
the knife enters my throat.
In the yard when I'm wielding the chainsaw--
the blade enters my throat.
When I grip the pistol and point it down range--
the bullet enters my throat and exits through the cerebellum.

Yet, I've never once attempted to take my life or even
threatened to do so for attention;
but that's really not my style.
Perhaps these thoughts are perfectly normal...

*yeah, for a guy who hates his ******' life.

Behind my smile is something  broken.
Broken from growing up in a place,
where my parents and I would have daily death threats.
They worked live-in at a group-home,
I had no choice but to live there among them.
From the age of 7 to current 16,
I've heard every word in the book,
had a child attempt to burn down our house,
in the middle of the night, killing us all...
I've seen my parents brake down in tears,
I've witnessed my family fall apart...
By the age of nine, I imagined myself dead...
I attempted to suffocate myself in grade 4.
I remember crying into my pillow,
but I couldn't bring myself to doing the act.
I still get urges, urges to drag the blade across the wrist,
the urge to tie the slipknot...
I wish I could end it all, the pain and confusion,
but that would help no one.
****....