I have thought,
and when I say thought
I mean seriously sat down and thought hard
until I had a headache,
I pick it up and stare down the barrel of the gun,
I play with the trigger,
I sit there, debating,
Right or Wrong?
life has truly gotten the best of the best of me this time,
it's hard,
yeah I know it gets better,
but if loving you gets any harder
I will have to do some more thinking.
I walk to the kitchen to find something
so my stomach will shut up,
I open the drawer to find a knife
so I can cut this apple,
I pull out the knife and stare at it,
to many memories flushed back into my head,
cutting, screaming, crying, pain,
the pain seemed to help,
but it stung, and pushed me harder into thinking
about the gun I had hid in my dresser.
Right when I feel the cold steel on my wrist,
I flinched
next thing I remember I looked at what I had done
and I had the word 'perfect' carved into my arm,
blood flowing around my arm in perfect little lines,
dripping everywhere.
Some might call this suicide,
I call it pain, from what you caused
it hurts worse than what you would think,
call this suicide if you want,
and I'll keep calling it You.