I will not kill myself,
I said to the little boy,
as he stared at me.
Peeping through a mirror
from a far forgotten past,
he just smiled at me.
I will not kill myself,
I said to the teenager,
who held my wrist.
And then he screamed
just as I dreamed
when I felt his slits.
I will not kill myself,
I said to the young man,
who asked me how I was.
And held him tight,
as he wailed and cried,
I told him; I was sorry for his loss.
I will not kill myself,
I said to the old man,
and asked him if I should.
First he sighed,
then rolled his eyes
and asked me if I could.
I will not kill myself,
I say it to them all
and take a deep breath.
I will not kill myself,
I whisper to myself
as I beg for death.
I will not kill myself,
for it will not liberate me
as I wish it would.
Blood would gush out,
and my body will fall
but I'll stand where I stood.
I will not kill myself,
I say it to my corpse,
and that is all that matters.
For my soul is dead,
and I may shoot myself
but my mind will not shatter.
I will not kill myself,
I write on this paper,
as I sit and bleed,
these streams of graphite
I fight for day light
as I wish to sleep.
I will not kill myself,
I say to the mirror
and hope that they hear.
For I can live with pain
and I can live in agony
but I will not live in fear.
I will not kill myself,
I say to all the monsters,
loitering in my head.
And I say it every night,
hoping they would listen
and let me go to bed.
