You wanted to end it all,
silence the noise inside your mind,
stop handing tools to the people around you-
tools that stoked the fire beneath your skin,
you boil over, unseen, unheard.

You blinded yourself with endless giving,
pouring out so much of yourself for others,
only to feel the sting of abandonment
no one held you in return.
In your haze of suffering,
You didn’t see the hands that reached for you,
feel the love in the corners of your pain.

You wanted to disappear quietly,
a silent scream to echo in their lives forever.
Suicide is the final act of selfishness-
the last word in a conversation no one wanted to hear.

It would have been your release,
a way out of the prison you’d built inside yourself.
You planned it meticulously-
the blades, the hours, the motions.
You traced escape into your skin,
You couldn’t do it.

You reached out,
exposed the rawness of your breaking,
You were met with scolding words,
a mix of anger and relief.
They praised you for asking for help,
their words told you this is just how life is-
a river you have to swim,
no matter how many times you feel like drowning.
“Don’t hurt yourself over every little thing,” they said,
as if the weight of it all was just a passing breeze.

It was a slap,
a reminder that you were not allowed
to feel the depth of your own pain.
You’ve always been told your attitude is the problem,
they never understood the battle inside-
how long you’ve been keeping it all together with trembling hands.

You were breaking,
bound to the suffering you can never escape.
You will search for that release every day,
quiet moments when the world stops,
when you can’t bear the weight of pretending anymore.
You used to cut the pain out,
a ritual of release,
they saw it as another way of killing yourself.

Not cutting?
That is killing you, too.

Torn in two directions,
You had to choose-
betray yourself,
or betray your family.
You still betray them,
hiding it with practiced lies,
learning to live in the shadows.
it gets harder to conceal the truth,
to find new ways to explain the marks.

They always told you
it’s okay to do what you need,
as long as it doesn’t hurt others-
how do they reconcile that
when your pain spills over,
cutting becomes the only sweetness,
candy that rots you from the inside out

It’s harm that does more harm,
it’s all you know.