The first time I contemplated suicide was at the age 13.
Sleeping pills. Just like mom.
I wanted to dream forever.
Many more occurrences followed that year.

The next was at the age of 15.
Cutting. Finally had the courage.
I took a broken shard of glass and I
Finally found the anger inside of myself.

Following that was the age of 17.
Self inflicted pain. Heartache seemed worse at the time.
I dug my nails into my skin.
Making scars seemingly physical now.
I finally found a way to release the pain.

Last night,
I contemplated suicide.
I promised that I wouldn’t go through with it.
But who cares?
Who could stop me?
Who would want to?

I’m happy.
I swear, I am.
You know I am.
I only fake it a little bit.  

But sometimes,
I don’t think I can do this anymore.
I don’t think I can live anymore.
At least not by myself.

I hated myself,
And time and time again.
The hate seeps through the bleeding cuts.

Sometimes I starve myself.
Sometimes I hurt myself.
Sometimes I hate myself.  

Sometimes I contemplate suicide.

But tonight
I cut the pen into paper.
Bleeding out my vulnerability in hopes to die poetically.

Don’t starve to life
An emaciated buffet unveiled
A feast of scraps
Hungry for your nutritious deceit
Portioned promise
Bloated truth dripping
And yet you're full

Starving myself and subjecting myself to hunger as a way of punishing myself for ruining things with you
Or maybe it was just too hard to leave my bed after i'd drowned myself in tears
Finally being able to eat a full meal without gagging, an appetite built up for years
Feels good to be putting the pieces back together
I'm not whole again
I'll never be whole again
But at least i'm not shattered

Bony parts bruise faster.
I think to myself.
I look down at my arms. They are tinted yellow from the fading bruises.

Fatty parts bruise harder.
I think to myself.
I look down at my thighs, they have black spots scattered over them.

I sigh and touch my collarbones protruding from my body.
I stack the coins. I can fit 17 on each collarbone.

I look in the mirror and I know I am looking at a hollowed out skeleton, but all I see is me .. just as I've always looked, grey, boring, ordinary...

The promises you fed me were empty
leaving me
hungrier than I ever was