When I come to I see my bedroom light bright and blinding over my head.
As I lay there on my bed I hear a familiar voice say 'please don't be dead.'
I can barely remember hitting the vein and pushing the plunger to numb the pain. I'm feeling regret, I think I lost the draw, and pushed too far. If I could count my chances I've had plenty I feel I'll soon be a statistic in which there are too many.
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