I’ve held a loaded gun to my head

the only reason I didn’t pull that ******* trigger is
I never want my mother to have to see me like that..

sprawled out on the bathroom floor
tiles that use to hurt my head they were so white..
stained red from all the blood

and the scariest part is

not a day has gone by that I don’t regret my choice
because
no matter how good I feel
I always end up wishing I were dead

but I wasn’t brave enough to swallow back the guilt
threw it back up with every overdose

I spent years trying to cut out all the hurt
let it spill from my veins
my wrists will never be empty of scars again

I tied a rope around my neck
thinking I could go quick enough that no one would have to hear my screaming

it left me with burns around my throat
choking back every “I’m dying”
“somebody, help me”

I have held a loaded gun to my head
but I am so scared

I am so scared of losing you that I can’t even **** myself