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I hope the unhealthy thoughts die, 
as soon as I type them on this paper. 
I'm really sorry, 
but I'm tempted to harm myself again tonight, 
for the things I failed to accomplish.
And I know you are going to stop me,
and tell me I'm perfect ,
but I know it's not true.
The truth is that I'm not okay. 
The truth is that I'm pretty damaged. 
The truth is that I'm easily replaceable, 
and I hate being so. 
When I raise my hand, 
they try to reach for the blades instead of pens. 
They try to paint my arms red with the razor,
when I try to pour myself out on a paper.
Being aware of all the beautiful things in the world,
I'd never choose myself over someone who is better.
But I want you to choose me.
I know that's insane,
but I really want you to choose me.