The Plan

A worthless excuse for the human life,
this is the reason I turn to the knife.

Pathetic and stupid describe who I am,
somebody who isn’t worth a damn.

Angry cuts across the left forearm,
a perfect portrait of self harm.

Over the years I’ve been consumed,
this pain I feel has me entombed.

Nobody here wants to listen,
so I watch my cuts begin to glisten.

Protect myself in my world of sharp blades,
with each new cut, a part of me fades.

Tears pour out from each new tear in my flesh,
I guess 10 year old memories stay fresh.

I always sent this pain below,
secrets he said nobody could know.

Sorrow is a slower form of suffocation,
the reason that these blades became my salvation.

Every detail so carefully plotted,
every T crossed and every I dotted.

They’ll all be asleep as my plan goes into effect,
I kept things cool so they’d never suspect.

A nice, long, hot shower,
talk with my blade for about an hour.

Get out and finish those little blue pills,
who here knows that Tylenol PM kills?

Swallow down with my bottle of Rum,
continue to cut and quietly hum.

Deeper and closer each time it slides,
it’s easier ‘cause I’m not what decides.

The room starts to spin and the blade falls with a “ting”,
Eyes closed, “Take me away” I quietly sing.

Falling slowly to my knees, then the floor,
Open my eyes and realize, I’m not here anymore.