Cut so deep, skin divided exposing the bone.
Who’s naked hand holds the knife?
My blood is shed, maybe for an empty promise.
But I inquire, Who’s hand is that?
I look take a deep breath and fall into this pit of self-destruction.
Evil surrounds my every last step.
Who will be there for my very last breath?
I remember…
As a child…
Lost…Sick…So frustrated…
As I ate a meal, waiting for my medicine.
Handed down like a bone to a dog.
Instead…
Ill be ok, slipping the pill in my pocket.
Then…Run away…
My world seems so distant.
My life made of glass seems it will soon break.
My problems are mine,
So am I a problem?
Seems so far away, but I hold this knife, my life in my hands.
I’ve never felt this way.
Who would have thought this child, me, would love pain.
I feel better now, that is better not good.
It’s so amazing…
With this knife,
I have power.
1 life pending on what I do.
I Love pain, I Love pain, Pain I Love
So ask yourself.
Are you thinking?

Take the pill.

Sean Irvine

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/prozac-4/