9/25/2018
My finger picks at the top of the blade
Thirsting for blood; I am not afraid
Impassioned release, just inches away
I plead with myself, *no not today. *
The urge, a riptide, (it) quietly calls
To the edge of the ledge, dares you to fall
How you got here, you can’t recall
I drop to my knees and begin to bawl
On the precipice of certain despair
Inhaling unforgiving air
A whisper passes, do not be scared
I hold out my arm, virgin and bare
Tightly in hand, the razor I grip
Cautious, steady, above my ready wrist
All it takes is a passing kiss
(Just) another statistic—I won’t be missed