when I mixed dirt and blood and water in my veins like a chemistry project
I had intended to come home to you
I didn't mean to end up ******* air through a hollow chest or for my dad to see me broken
I spent five months in jail for not asking for help
instead just plunging needles into the soft spot in the crook of my elbow
and isn't that ironic?
that we don't try to save people that are hurting
and that when I came home you still asked how I was but didn't say that you love me
and maybe that's why I wanted to die