often wonder i how would it feel
when my cut open wrists would bleed
saving me from taking the next breath,
i happily choose the easiest of death!
because living is a chore i cannot do
everything's black, devoid of a hue!

yet a part of me wishes to be found
hearing me out when i suffer without a sound

helping me come back from this dark deep hole
and make me acquainted with my spirited soul

for i know there's a part of me that wants to survive
a beating heart and bruised body still wanting to thrive

a little push to pull me from the edge
a shoulder to lean on is all i fetch

somebody, anybody to shake some sane sense into me
when the noose around my neck constricts tightly

i wish i could just speak whatever is bottled within
and maybe that could save me from committing this sin

but who? how? when? and what? could help this failing will
a person, a parent, a sign or a shrink would help me before i ****?
or is there one another being who'll be there?
-the one standing behind the mirror with a sanguine stare