Who dreams of pills
blades guns ropes
all things that kill
things that make me smile and hope
it will get better
they say
we just get used to it
i might as well write a death letter
I cutted for help
the help I never received
pain was carved in my arm
no help so I did more harm
i want to draw art
to see the color red
drip down my arm
bringing me closer to death
im drained emotionally
i fall asleep to get numb from the pain
attached to me like a chain
I’m going to get better hopefully