carrying the knife in my trembling hands.
wondering where to jab it in between my glands.
wondering why im empty, nothing is helping.
i throw the knife through my stomach, blood now lurking.
everything is black, what a beautiful shadow.
i wake up to beeps and cries, a white bed so narrow.
stomach is sore, wrapped in bandaids.
I think to myself, ‘that stupid blade’.
flowers circle my bed, room is bright.
not my thoughts, one more try I might.
months go by, I get released, still i am sad.
but nothing is worse than being back.
