I'm holding a knife up to my arm
I'm shaking and sweating
I figure, if I go out, I might as well go out with a bang.
So I sit in school with the knife at my wrist and think.
Who loves me?
Who hates me?
And
Who will love coming in here tomorrow and seeing me lying here in a pile of blood?
I answer this question with a cut, shallow at first but slowly getting deeper
I stare in wonder; like this is the first time I've seen blood.
Blood pouring out of my arm I slowly get weaker, blood spots my vision
But as I lay there I see someone coming into the classroom.
Crying and shaking violently.
They see me and then see the knife.
They slowly pick it up but with my last bit of energy I sit up crying.
Don't make the first cut, I have tried and failed to live.
Were you my friend?
I slowly start thinking of my family, my crush, my best friend bracelet.
And I don't want to die. But the cut is too deep.
And I fall to the ground with one last sentence.
What is love? Did I have it?