In sudden onset anger,
I want to lash out.
So instead,
I find a quiet place,
And draw my weapon across my wrists.
Instead of blood,
Ink wells from the wound,
And I lift the pen from my skin.
I'm calling for help.
Can anyone hear me?
Perhaps.
But it seems so many pleas for help go ignored.
So many people scroll apathetically,
And label the author as attention seeking.
In that regard, we aren't so different.
So tell me, why is your twerking video
More important than the page with my soul splattered across it?