A Cry For Help

I stand there, staring at the object in my hands.
It seems so easy, a little too easy.
The blade is sharp, but I won’t feel it;
I think to myself as I sense the hot water run down my face.
I look at my wrist and see my perfect pale skin.

I can’t do it.
How could I?
After the high of highs, there’s always going to be the low of lows.
How could I ever think of doing this when I’d just had the best weekend of my life?
A weekend where I was told there is always someone to turn to.

Jesus. God.
I’d asked for a week to revitalize;
A week to feel better.
He had given me the weekend…and I’d thanked him with this.
What a thoughtless thing to do.

* * *

I saw her when I turned around.
I saw her face; she was calling me from down the corridor.
A look upon her face showing ultimate sadness, ultimate remorse.

She told me she was sorry, sorry that it happened.
I asked her what.
She said she didn’t think till afterwards and was worried about it ever since.
She said she was sorry for kissing him, for making out with him.

Is that all people see?
What was and not what is.
I love him to death, but he’s my best mate, nothing more.

I put the razor back where I got it and smile.
The look on her face when I told her it was okay,
When I said, I’m fine with it.
I wasn’t though, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.
I want them to be happy.

I envy this girl.
She is so pretty, so confident; so loved.
She had it made; now she has everything.
Everything I will never have.