Hurting you would take years to get over
Id drown from guilt and tears
Darling if I were to hurt you
Trust me I'd never write again
because the words
I would jot down
On that napkin I picked up from Starbucks
Would never be as sweet
As you had been to me.

She must've gotten tired
of slicing her wrists with razors
And setting fire to her skin
So she burned herself on lovers
And cut herself on friends

It's hard to be a coward and suicidal,
Afraid of pain and overly-sensitive to guilt simultaneously.
Never wanted to jump from a building,
Because regretting your decision halfway down must be a nightmare.
Must only take a few seconds.
Must feel like longer than you've ever lived.
Didn't want to jump in front of a bus,
Because that seems wildly ineffective.
Didn't want to lie on train tracks;
I know those videos of dismembered people end up
On the darkest places of the Internet,
And I'm nothing if I'm not embarrassed by attention.
Didn't want to hang myself, had enough hospital trips
From asthma attacks rendering me breathless to want to relive it.
Tried to hang myself.
Wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be.
Didn't want to overdose on pills
Because I have an aversion to swallowing them.
Realised the only reason you aren't supposed to chew them
Is so you don't overdose.
Tried to overdose.
Woke up confused and frightened with an apparently not-killer headache.
But that was back then, and this is now.
I don't look at things and see invitations of death anymore.
There's no temptation to analyse them
And see if they're up for the job.
I'm less on the aggressive side of the spectrum,
Swaying, instead, a lot more to being passive.
I don't want to dive in front of traffic,
But I don't always look before I cross the road either.
And I could still end up in the same coffin as if I'd jumped,
But for me, there's a lifetime of difference.

alone with the seconds tapped out by my feet, ticked out by the clock. i wonder if the hands get bored of circles? of turning gears? of being read? do they follow the expectations on them to give the correct time? do they crack under pressure, ticking a few seconds late or a few seconds early? are their poems about their life like poems about mine?

Emotion so heavy
...Gears on lock
Feelings; I'm feeling Wavy
Emotional shock