Don't Start.

When she closes her eyes
What do you think she sees?
She sees herself dying
Slitting her wrists
Hanging herself off of a brand new ceiling fan
She hears voices she can't control
KILL YOURSELF, they scream!
She's being dragged down!
They're clawing at her ankles!
As she draws blood, a sigh of contempt leaves her lips
She won, she got to her flesh and sliced it before they did
I win, she thinks to herself, with a small smile
But, nonetheless, I'm insane
I believe it, I do, so why don't I perish?
The thoughts tearing her mind apart need to be eraticated
She flips the razor over on her finger tips at least a thousand times
She takes it everywhere, touching it every now and then just to make sure it's still there
Without it, she'd be nothing
She'd be even more lost, even more torn
When she doesn't cut herself, the world doesn't make sense
She can't be happy
She begins to shake and rip out her hair, and scream into her pillow
It's like her own personal brand of heroine
Like lighting up a cigarette
When she grabs that razor she gets so excited
As excited, she imagines, as a stoner rolling up a joint
Leave me the fuck alone, she'll hiss in her mind, grasping the razor in her pocket a bit too tight
Unworthy. Fat. Stupid. Loser.
Her life is gone, because of a razor
A strip of metal
Don't start.