Getting Better

You have no idea
how difficult it is for me
to stop what has consumed
me for so long.

Everyday when I see
those blades and needles
and pills, my mind goes
back to a few months ago.

I think "Maybe just one
cut or scratch
maybe just a few pills
to make me disappear.

Nobody would notice
or care. It wouldn't
hurt anybody, just make
me feel just a bit better.

One cut, two cut, three.
Four cut, five cut, six.
Maybe a few more to
make me leave this world.

One pill, two pill, three.
Swallow pill after pill,
until I'm dead
on the floor."

My thoughts always
on this. Never once
straying from destruction.
I want to leave.

Please, won't you stop
trying to prevent me!
The one thing I want most
in the world.

Death, what a great adventure
that would be.
Hopefully, with a
happier ending.

Do I really want to?
I've been clean for
so long. Is this
the better thing to do?

It's been about
three weeks since
a blade sliced through
my skin. Do I want to break that?

Do I want to break my
streak? I know I'll regret
it, eventually. It's getting
harder to hide.

My thoughts, strangling me.
Contradicting itself all day,
arguing constantly
and hurting my head.

I've confused myself, now,
but I'm not wanting to cut,
I guess I'm getting better,
but you have no clue how hard it is.