The floor is cold against my back
Through my blurred vision; on the wall there is a crack
Spinning and winding - I’m so far astray
The cold tiles feel so far away
Above reality I float up high
Lord, take pity and let me die
Wrists so bloody, there’s no more pain
My body’s numb, but I can hear the rain
Through my cries it calls to me
Every drop sounding free
Yearning to be so little and not matter
I count ever single pit and patter
My voice weakens and tears no longer run
I pray that I’m dead, I pray to be done
As the mascara dries onto my cheeks
I try my hand, as it sits too weak
I scream and push myself to rise
My hair, my hands, my lips and eyes
Beside myself, I sit and touch
Wondering if you were worth this much.
~January 25, 2004
 
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