I lay in the middle of the floor
With no meaning to my life
I look at the dots on the ceiling
And hope for something to happen.
Maybe the roof will collapse
And kill me right there
Maybe somebody will shoot a gun
And it'll crash through the windows and go to me.
I know I can't grab the razor
But yet depression sits on my shoulders
So how do I deal with it
Besides lay around waiting for my death.
Why should I bother
If no one seems to care anymore
Who would know the difference
If I marked myself tonight.
The feel of blood flowing out
Calms my nerves but makes me anxious
How I long to feel it again
And feel the pain on my skin the morning after.
The scars on my body
Are the reminder of those days
And sometimes I wish to go back to it
But I know I can't.
If I did I'd crush spirits
Not just my friend's but my own
And starving myself to death
Isn't helping anything either.
Because I'm a failure to them
I try to do something perfect
But not eating isn't the answer
But it's just to hard to eat something these days.
The feeling of throwing up
Keeps me away from most foods
But it's not cutting that's doing this
I'm just a ticking bomb waiting to explode.
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Comments about this poem (Untitled by Kelsey Joe )
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(22 October 1928 -)
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