Cry for Me

He almost did the thing I wished for myself, for the pain and misery to boil up like a kettle.
The self loathing,
The hatred
To think,
What’s the point?
I cry to imagine of what I want.
How I could consider that way,
To see a knife and desire to run it across my skin.
Seeing a tub full of water, and think,
What would it be like?
Would anyone cry for me, like I’ve cried for myself?
Would they come to me like they are to him?
Would anyone care?
A battle going on inside me,
The good always wins, but maybe it won’t.