Have you
seen people curl when they talk about death?
Well that
happens to me, but not as much as,
that wrist on each arm, that half pound of
flesh,
that temptation of suicide, of fast pain
relief.
A steel
knife could end all in a minute.
And, as
I’m writing this it’s making me cringe,
it’s making me tight,
it’s making me taught,
it’s making my arteries swell beyond
thought.
And, for
my own sake, for my own health,
I’ll stop writing now.
I’ll stop
writing now.
I’ll stop
writing now, it makes me confused.
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