i dont want to die

ive had enough
my mind is tired
cant think
all the yelling
the hate
how many times
will they call me
an ass?
am i?
why should i care?
im sick of it
sick of life
of living
my hand falls
to my desk
and there
beneath my fingers
my pocketknife
i switch it open
and flick it closed
switch flick switch
i press it against
the pale skin
of my wrist
feel the cold steal
cutting into my flesh
i feel it all
at a distance
thats not my wrist
and im surprised
i feel no pain
the blood runs
down my arm
gushing, throbbing
with my life
i see it
and suddenly
like the ringing
of a bell
it hits me
that is my wrist
my blood
falling to the floor
franticly i grab
a shirt
press it against
my wrist
try to make it
STOP
im too late
it keeps flowing
my life
seeping away
and i know
i dont want
to die
i never did
its not my time
why did i do it?
why…?