Why Won'T Anybody Help Me? Poem by Sierra Staten

All my life I was surrounded by people..
Unhappy people, depressed people, suicidal people.
They outgrew that. I grew into it.
They know I'm on the edge.
They know I cut.
They know time after time I want to end this life of mine.
Every now and then my sleeves will adjust and reveal the cuts and the scars.
And not a single soul cares enough to help.
When I'm dead, how many people will care?
Far less than the amount of people who saw it coming.
You know it will happen.
Why won't you do anything?