I sit here by myself, thinking of suicide
I look at a knife, wanting to commit suicide
I look at a photo, hating my life
Telling myself, suicide stops the pain
I turn the lights off, alone in dark
Reaching for the knife, that’s going to take it away
I think of certain people, they don’t care
For the first time, I think of myself
I dig the knife, into part of my skin
Letting all of my blood, pour out
I’m not dying quick enough, so another cut I make
Then a final cut on my neck, and a stab in my heart
Lisa French
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/suicide-175/
