I've been hit again.
My mind
suddenly begins to think
how do I get away
I am cornered.
not yet I tell myself.
After the beating finishes,
(Only because they are tired now)
I walk painfully to my room.
My ***
feels like it's been shot.
My body
feels like it has been pulled apart twice.  
I sit down,
lift my mattress,
the blade lies here.
I look at it, craving its sharp clarity.
My wrists are the matching fit.
Cut cut
I think.
No one will miss me anyhow
I think.
But then
I imagine people's faces,
when they hear the news.
When they hear
how despicable the idea was
that I killed myself.
I don't lift my blade.
I let it rest.
"Till next time, friend"
I whisper to it.
I cannot speak,
my mouth has been punched in so many times,
It is as if the great pyramid rests on my lips.
My skin is raw,
carpet burn everywhere.
I tried to get out.
I really did
Like the blade,
I want to be sharp,
yet feel so dull.
Though I have not,
my heart has already killed itself.
Time
is not of the essence
anymore
No
Never again.
I will not
let them take this life.
That's my job
And quite frankly,
Im not ready just yet
So I will keep hanging on.
Just a little at a time.
I will let myself fall,
that way I can learn how
to pick myself up
all by myself.
Yes,
I do not need the blade.
I am Strong.
Strong
Strong
Strong.
*hope