when i would hold that blade in between my fingers i would shake.
i don't know why it made me shake,
but it did.
i think part of why i would shake was because i had the weight of my hate for myself dragging me so far down that i was straining my muscles just to stand.
when i would dig the metal into my flesh my tears would evaporate
and i would watch the slice turn rosy
and then it would fill up with my blood
until it dribbled over the edge of the wound
and slid down my hips
then my legs would shake
the blood made me dizzy and sick

i have to live with this uncertainty
the constant thought of death sitting above my head,
dangling its feet in front of my eyes
i'm not really afraid of the death itself
but what i'll miss
and what would've come after
yet i also wish for this death
because it's fast and i would no longer suffer
my brain wouldn't torment me anymore
and my second vital ***** would be still
i wouldn't feel the bounce of my heart when it palpitates
or the feeling of a knife sliding in between my ribcage
but it's weird to think about how it could happen
any time, anywhere
and i wouldn't be able to control this
or say goodbye
or make the impact that i want to have on you

i wish i knew if what you said was true
and i wish that you would fight for me
but you can't even fight for yourself
you tell me to stop when i'm drinking
that it's bad
and that i'll die young
but i think you're always forgetting that i don't care
i'll sleep forever one day,
with my muscles lax and my bones weightless,
and i'll evaporate into the soil
and nourish the worms and the weeds
i hope that when i'm gone
you won't mind too much
and hopefully i'll leave you a gift
because i don't want to disappear
worth nothing to you