I go to bed sick,
And I wake up seething.
I look down at my chest,
I'm pretty sure it's bleeding.
Freezing, right to the core-
'Till I'm numb, feel nothing more.
I'm not even sure I'm breathing.
Fine lines etched;
Secret. Permanent moments of believing,
In tiny little lines.
At least I know I'm leaving.
Suicide?
Silly.

Like me.