Counting to ten

November 15, 2011
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I close my eyes and count to ten.
Hoping that some day this will end.
No one can hear me no matter how loud I scream.
No one will listen, because I've cried wolf to many times before.
I hide in every corner but they still find me.
I just want them to see.
Just how much they damage they did to me.
No one can see me and no one cares.
I'm just another student walking in the halls.
Just a prisoner that has no hope of getting out.
Their words feel like shackles on my arms.
And their fists feel like poison burning my body.
No way to escape.
No one to help me.
Just stand still and hope that it ends soon.
Counting to ten can be hard.
Especially when each number I think of a way to die.
One: jump off a cliff.
Two: drunk to much.
Three: overdose
Four: gun to my head.
Five: hang myself.
Six: lay on the road and get run over.
Seven: attack a wild animal.
Eight: drown.
Nine: slit my wrists.
Ten: touch a power pole.

I want to get away from it.
I need to run.
But there is no where to run to.
Their words etch into my brain.
Their threats freeze the reality I live in.
And their fits are the things that I get held down for.
Bystanders help and hold me down.
Bullies throw the fist.
Who is more guilty, I'll never know.
But I count to ten.
I pick a number.
I pick ten.
I'll be dead by morning.
I don't give a s***.
I have to run away.
I have to.
And this is the only way I can.

Goodbye shackles.
Goodbye poison.
Goodbye life.
Goodbye world.
It's not like any of you gives a damn about me anyways.

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