By the time you see this, it will be too late.

I asked for help, I screamed for years and I received nothing but empty promises.
I recall praying for something with substance to come into my life, but the only substances I remember having came in dime bags and shot glasses.
I remember carving names into my skin and breaking my own heart, and I know that you were there to see it all go downhill.

By the time you see this, I might still be breathing through pressed lungs.
The air feels like sandpaper, and I can't bare another scratch.
So if my chest still heaves as you read this, know that it's too late to save me from the pain.
The pain is in me, and the pain I have become.
Let me be.