Falling Apart

It feels like I’m dying.
I’m not dying.
It’s more like I’m sinking.
I’m sinking and flying.
I try so hard to tell you I’m trying.
And yet…
Yet you think I’m lying.
So I spend nights awake in bed, writing.
All because you won’t stop prying
Into my life.
“I’ve got my knife.”
Choose your words.
It’s what I deserve.
This knife’s action depends on you.
It depends on you and what you do.
For self-harm or self-defense?
As I said, it all depends.
I’m on a ledge.
I’m on the fence.
I never knew that you were so dense.
Yeah, that’s “were,” spoken in the past tense,
Now you know better, you know better, but you’re still playing pretend.
It’s the cost of my life, so be careful,
because I’m on the edge
of suicide and murder.
Mind your words
to keep me alive.
Self-harm is nothing anymore
because everything you say,
every action you take,
every move you make
means nothing.
It all means nothing,
even when I’m trying.
It all means nothing,
even when I’m crying.
Take this to heart.
Take my life into consideration.