Scribbling notes inside my head
Laying on the floor, wishing I was dead
Writing messages on my arm
Causing myself “unneeded harm”
Painting pictures on the wall
Will anyone catch me if I fall?
Smearing blood onto the floor
There’s a lot, but I want more
Yanking at my head and hair
It kind of hurts but I don’t care
I’m scribbling what they tell me to
I cannot win, so what do I do?
I’m writing what they tell me to write
I’ve given up, I cannot fight
I’m painting what they tell me to paint
My light grows dim, my light grows faint
I’m smearing this because they say so
I don’t want to hold on, I can’t let go
I’m yanking my hair and trying to yell
Welcome, my friends, to my hell © 2009 Michael Dean Dumeir
