The First Time

The first time I tried to die was the best,
I can't second guess.
I didn't think about what would happen if I lived.
Opening the kitchen drawer was scary.
In each knife I could see my life go on without me.
Friends laughed.
Teachers taught.
Parents talked.
Everything was the same.
I pulled out one knife.
This would be the one to take my life.
I ran it under a trickle of water, afraid that if I turned it up any higher I would wake my mother.
The water shut off.
The kitchen lights went out.
I walked to my room.
With my legs crossed on my bed,
I began to write notes to friends,
teachers,
parents,
and my boyfriend.
I wasn't scared.
I put the letters in a neat row on the floor.
Pick up the knife.
Making a small incision in my finger,
I kissed it and and touched each paper.
Leaving some of of me for everyone.
The I dragged it up my hand to my wrist and looked up to pray.
When I was done,
I pushed the blade into my skin.
It burned and then everything went black.
What I didn't know was I had waited to long.
It was 7 AM by the time I was done and numb.
My mother came to wake me up for school.
I had other plans.
Chaos and sirens.
In a hospital bed for two days and seven hours before I wake.
I awake laughing and crying.
Laughing because when I told you this would happen you just shrugged it off.
Crying because it didn't work.
You always get a second chance.
Mine will come soon and I'll do it right then.
Until then,
I'll just laugh and cry.
Maybe now you understand.