As she looks back it’s been, the same situation but a different cause.
Sitting in her room, in the corner with a knife.
She knew it was so wrong, but it felt so right….
The next thing she is watching as she slowly makes her first cut.
She had told herself it was a one time thing, just a fling.
As she sits in the same corner, the story twists a bit, this it’s not the razor to the wrist but the pills and skipping her meals.
Dying sounded so good to her…..
Later that day she went to the medicine cabinet and snatched up all the pills, with the hopes….
She took the pills and awaited….. Yet nothing, not a thing.
The story takes another turn.
Now it’s not the pill and the razor but she topped it off with booze and put the razor to her wrist and the pills in her mouth and put the bottle to her lips.
She watched the crimson liquids run down her arms.
You think the story is over? Well it’s just begun.
She made three more attempts… none have worked…to no avail..
She tried four
She thought ‘more, more more.’
She finally gave up trying, she would cut not to die but to feel.
She wanted to feel anything, anything at all, even if it meant pain.
Then she made her last attempt.
She had that feeling inside that it would work.
She didn’t bother to tell anyone not even her best friend or boyfriend.
She couldn’t bear it any longer.
She sat on the floor with the pills and razor.
As she did so she shook with her sobs, she was scared to die but didn’t want to keep on living.
Here’s where her story ends. She was a coward and couldn’t take her own life, even if she wanted to…in the final hour she was a confident coward….