I Love The Rain Poem by DJ Hart

It's raining, it's pouring,
the old man is snoring.
While he sleeps, I cut my arm.
Oh, how good it feels to self-harm.
While the pain tickles my head,
my blood pours onto my bed.
The pain is good, relaxes me.
Helps clear my head so I can see
all of the lies thrown in my face.
Why do I still live in this place?
When I hurt myself, I am on Cloud 9.
And that's something that is mine.
At my arm, anyone can stare.
But in all actuality, who would care?
Sometimes I just want to lay down on my bed,
and shoot myself in the head.
Then I wont have to listen to another lie.
It would be a gift to die.
All because Death is a gift.
One that no one can lift.