**TW: self-harm, suicidal thoughts, blood**

This time, I won’t.

But it only hurts if you let it.

I’m laying on the ground,

a lost soul waiting to be found.

I want to cry, but I don’t make a sound.

The ceiling is spinning,

and I’m never winning.

Getting through the day is an uphill battle

that I _always_ lose.

I don’t know where to begin,

this awful feeling is eating me from within.

I can scream and I can shout,

but it never fully gets out.

This pain doesn’t even hurt anymore,

so I open the door and I sit on the floor.

I listen for a sound, 

but nobody is around.

And would they care, anyway?

Would the world be different if I didn’t exist?

I press the knife to my wrist,

the blade’s cool edge like a kiss.

I don’t want to die, I promise,

all I want to do is cry

and get rid of this Nothing inside.

I just want to feel something real.

My feelings are numb,

but still I feel _so_ dumb

and stupid and useless

and helpless and clueless.

What is the point?

What is in store?

What is my future?

Is there someone to live for?

I watch the crimson droplets _drip drip_,

like an old leaky faucet,

staining the carpet where I sit.

I leave them there,

because I want someone to find them.

I want _someone_ to care.

It only hurts if you let it,

but I feel like I don’t even get the choice.

I have no say, I have no voice.

Because I _want_ to feel it,

but I _don’t._

All I feel is guilty.

So I promise myself,

next time, I won’t.

Note: I am truly sorry for anyone going through this or anyone who has gone through this. I hope that you can find people who can help and encourage you. If you struggle with any of these things, I encourage you to seek help from others. If you find yourself thinking along the lines of anything I have referenced in this poem, please tell somebody you trust. Stay strong 💕