If I cut my veins and bled onto these pages, would you understand me then?
Would you care if I told you that I’m too cowardly for suicide?
Would it hurt you seeing me lay in a puddle of my tears?
Would it scare you if you saw a preview to my unending torment?
Would you love me even with my dimmed efforts at freedom?
Will you empathize at the sight of my deeply cut wounds?
Would you blame me for considering death over life?
Do you think I’m alive or barely thriving?
Why resuscitate the body when my life seeks rest?
Why taunt me with the past when my mistakes constantly haunt me?
Does anyone care to hear me admit that my breath is smothering?
Is there anyone watching out for people like us?
Or are we the forgotten?
The unloved?
The tainted?
The soulless?
The pariahs?
The faithless?
We wake up with our pain and sleep in our pain; it might not be the life we chose, but it is the life we have.
submitted by /u/StrugglesBeneath_
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