Monday: this is the day i do it,
when i feel the cold steel,
trace down my vein,
for my last embrace,
Tuesday: if only i had a gun,
i'd have my brains sliding down,
the yellow walls of my room.
or maybe i'd go out,
in a blaze like budd dwyer,
or maybe that,
would be seeking attention.
Wednesday: no one really cares,
until you try,
so maybe i should try and they'll care after i die,
all big and public with my face smashed in,
when i fall face-first off a building.
Thursday: i've decided to stop being a *****.
i've decided to stop seeking validation,
and just have my body hang in private,
all dignified with my **** and **** leaking out.
Friday: i'm cold and the scars are growing.
i'm running out of places to hide them.
there are only so many places,
i can carve insults and see them when i'm naked.
i guess that's how i'll go.
a toaster in my bath,
all pretty and naked for the world that never wanted me.
Saturday: all i want is someone to touch me,
to hold me, to be there,
when i roll over in my bed under my fur blankets,
and smile and love me being there,
because my being here is important;
barring that, i want someone to break in,
a ****** or a ******,
and bury my head into my pillow;
smother me until i like it,
until the time comes when i accept,
the peace washing over me.
Sunday: all i want is to sleep and never wake back up.