March 11, 2010
By Anonymous

i hold the razor to my wrist,
not having the nerve to do it.
i sit and stare at it,
thinking, 'what would drive me to do this?'
then i see your face and all the answers come to mind.
you tell me you love me,
then you go and mess around.
sometimes i wish we wouldn't've had to meet.
when i think of my life, and all the people who care,
how could i even dare?
i'd leave them all alone,
without me to help them through.
as i think, i set the razor down.

i just walk away..

The author's comments:
life is forreal.

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