Sometimes I think
About all my flaws
So I take the blade
To my bare wrist
And make a slice
Into my skin

Sometimes when there are pills in my house
Or nearby to where I am
I get an urge
To find the bottle
And swallow its contents

Sometimes when I’m alone
In my bedroom at night
I think about how much I hate myself
And that I would be better off dead

But if it weren’t for
Certain people
Those “sometimes” would be “all the times”
And I would be dead