I’ve shed my tears.
I’m completely out now.
Out of everything.
Strength.
Encouragement.
Family.
Friends.
Love.
I have nothing, and no one left to live for.
Why don’t I go?
Because I’ve read in so many articles, books, and poems that it gets better.
But I’m still waiting.
I’m still waiting for it to get better.
But it hasn’t yet.
Nothing has gotten better.
But I can feel it, that it’ll get better, if only I just wait a little longer.
It’s just, I’m just so tired.
So, tired of waiting for it to get better.
Waiting for something to change in my life, weather it’s me, or someone comes in, or leaves.
I can’t wait any longer.
My hands are losing its grip on reality.
It’s like I’m slipping away, but I can’t see it yet.
I can only feel it.
I’m falling apart, but I’m trying to build myself up.
I am.
It’s just so fucking hard, when there is no one to help you.
When there is no one to tell you, it’s all going to be okay.
It’s hard when no one is there to help you up when you’ve fallen.
When no one understands.
People call me selfish when I want to die.
But how am I selfish, I’ve asked for help.
And you denied me.
I’m selfish?
You’re selfish!
Not wanting to damage your good looks, and running your reputation.
And because of that, you’ve denied me to be myself.
You want me to be something that I’ve tried to be.
I’ve tried to be that, that thing for so long for you.
I’ve tried to be perfect for you.
And it’s helped you, but how has it helped me?!
It hasn’t!
It’s been killing me, and you STILL don’t care!!!
You block out my pain, my suffering.
And you pretend I’m happy.
You’ve told people to ignore my call for help.
But yet you cried when I finally decided to end it?
When I finally built up enough courage, to do something about my life.
To finally be happy.
You cried and asked why.
What have I done this to myself?
I lied and gave you a false answer.
I should have known better than that.
Because now that I’m “well”, you’re the exact same.
And I’ve tried to talk to you, but you STILL, you STILL FUCKING ignore me.
Ignore my request.
And I’m back to square one again.
But this time, you won’t be home in time.
You won’t get a good bye note this time.
You won’t be able to come through the door.
You won’t get that gut feeling.
You won’t be able to call.
I’ll pretend I’m okay.
And when the time is right, I’ll leave.
And this time, I won’t be coming back.
You won’t be able to give me blood.
You won’t be able to pump it out of me.
And no one will be here.
No one here to help.

-Justin Thorne

Poetry