TW.



I picked up a razor two nights ago,

thinking, would I find solace,
if it’s dragged across my skin?

My mind answered me instantly. 

No, I wouldn’t find solace.

A rip, a tear in skin, a patch of flesh will show

Pain, in the form of blood may flow

But all that will stop

Once I slap a plaster on it. 



Well, that was two nights ago. 


Today, I think about floating into the abyss of the sky

The moment I jump off this 30 story building that is my office. 

The wind would feel better than it has ever

But it will stop, in the form of a doubt

Right before I take off. 



How much longer can I go?
Everyday, the hole in my soul sinks a little deeper.

Every living moment feels like I’m being dragged through a bed of thorns

It hurts, and I don’t know why anymore

I just want to be sure

But I really can’t put a finger on it.