I want to talk about self-harm.
How the little razor is lifted to the wrist,
tallies forcefully drawn and bubbles of red
float to the seam of your swollen, slit skin.

How the other day I read a simple text
and found out my sister had been cutting herself.
My heart dropped.
Past memories flooded through me,
slowly rolling off my lashes and onto my cheeks.

How, even now, the boy I love beats himself
with hurtful words.
Stupid,
thinking the world would be better without him.

I want to talk about depression.
How it breaks down the mind and soul,
eyes become tired from constant salty tears,
everything becomes tired. The body,
weak, almost limp,
as if it has already decided
to give up.
It kills,
literally.

I want to talk about suicide.
How someone could feel so much sorrow
they fall asleep every night, eyes closed,
secretly wishing when morning awakens,
they won’t.

The mind is drowning,
barely breathing, and you
well you're drowning, too.
In tears, in darkness,
gasping for air, taking in every breath.
Fingers crossed, hoping
it's your last.