Free

A deep slash on each damned wrist,
And a hurricane of thoughts
Whirl round and round in my head,
I can't see straight anymore.

A tatty rope in the corner,
Catches my tear-filled eye,
Once used for play and happiness
Now it will help me die.

An abrupt sea of manic feelings,
Drown me in my bed
Overwhelming my poor vision
I don't want to see ahead.

Because ahead is full of tears,
But not my tears at all
These belong to my mother,
Who is crying in the hall.

My little brother asks her,
What ever happened to me,
My mother tells him slowly
I just wasn't meant to be.

Now his life is sombre,
He just wants to be free
Grown up now, he takes a knife
And ends up just like me.

Suicide was not the answer,
Everything is black.
We belong in the present tense
We wish we could go back.