You were standing at the top of that building
You were holding that knife against your wrist
You were sitting in a corner of your room
You were going to talk to her
What holds you back, pitiful brat?
"I'm scared, I'm scared! I'm not prepared!"
What holds you back, where's your faith at?
"I'm scared, I'm scared! I do not dare!"
You hopelessly started crying
You really wanted to talk to her
You pushed harder against your wrist
You walked further through the edge
What holds you back, pitiful brat?
"I'm scared, I'm scared! I'm not prepared!"
What holds you back, where's your faith at?
"I'm scared, I'm scared! I do not dare!"
You didn't talk to her
But you writed your last note
But your wrist started to bleed
But you jumped off the edge
Ha... Weren't you scared? I thought you didn't dare
Note: this poem is about something that i realised after doing some cutting. The fear i felt before doing it was the same that i felt when trying to expose myself to social interactions. I feel really stupid now that i think abou it
