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I thought I'd better do this.

The birds are singing outside,
but their song is made from car engines
and the screams of fighting cats.
I have a tablet to help me sleep,
which is good because the Polish
have just got back and alcohol
seems to effect their hearing.

Let me tell you all about the other night,
seen as we're all friends here...
At half past 8 I sat on my sofa,
and contemplated the big 'it.'
My conclusion was unreasonable
and so it began.

Half an hour later the house was swarmed
with police officers, paramedics
and friends
all facing me.
I stood there and stared back,
leaking.

My home for the next hour
was the back of an ambulance
and my companion; a paramedic
with no dark side
and some tears.

"On a scale of 1 to 10
how happy are you now?"
"I'd be happier with a cigarette
and a stiff whiskey."

They kept asking me if I self-harmed often,
to which I just laughed.
It was I who had to explain to them
the strict differences between
cutting for pleasure
and dragging a dirty razor straight down your wrist,
knowing that you don't plan on getting up.

Anyhow, I'm tired of it.
Since beginning writing this,
more shit keeps coming.
The fucker never gives up
and that was my point
in the first place.  
Written by CruelHandedWriter (Jamie Rhodes)
Published
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