Warning- This poem contains graphic descriptions of suicide attempts and self harm.
I remember the days with my hands wrapped around my throat.
My wrists were cut up and my eyes were filled with tears.
I was only ten.
I never want to feel that way again.
I remember thinking I was better off dead.
I'd been almost a year since I'd cut myself,
but I sat thinking about suicide in the rain.
I was only eleven.
I never want to feel that way again.
I remember taking a ton of pills before school and sitting by the door with a belt around my neck.
I couldn't stop cutting, but I was feeling happy.
I was only twelve.
I never want to feel that way again.
I remember writing this poem.
I'd finished writing all of my suicide notes, with a plan to **** myself on a random Sunday.
I'd given up cutting and was on three antipsychotics.
I was only thirteen.
I'm ready to never feel this way again.
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 2:44 PM UTC
Warning- This poem contains graphic descriptions of suicide attempts and self harm.
I remember the days with my hands wrapped around my throat.
My wrists were cut up and my eyes were filled with tears.
I was only ten.
I never want to feel that way again.
I remember thinking I was better off dead.
I'd been almost a year since I'd cut myself,
but I sat thinking about suicide in the rain.
I was only eleven.
I never want to feel that way again.
I remember taking a ton of pills before school and sitting by the door with a belt around my neck.
I couldn't stop cutting, but I was feeling happy.
I was only twelve.
I never want to feel that way again.
I remember writing this poem.
I'd finished writing all of my suicide notes, with a plan to **** myself on a random Sunday.
I'd given up cutting and was on three antipsychotics.
I was only thirteen.
I'm ready to never feel this way again.