My legs are finally starting to heal.
There might always be a roughness there,
Scars against once perfect skin.
This was it.
My first way to die.
Blood, human sacrifice.
Sacrificing my body so my soul might be freed.
Why did I think that'd work?
Here I am... soul in my body, and I will it no other place.
Yesterday as I was dressing,
I noticed more bones protruding out.
Bones showing my mind's failure to accept myself.
This is it.
My second way to die.
Images, fake visages.
Sacrificing my health so my soul might be trapped.
Why do I think this will work?
Why do I want to die?
I don't, though.
I can't.
I've been told I'm loved.
I've been told there's care.
That's why I must push through.
For humanity's sake.
If I give up, who else will, too?
My friend pleaded with me, begging for me not to hurt myself anymore.
That's why I can't die.
My mother called me her precious treasure.
That's why I can't die.
I make people smile, even when my heart is overflowing with pain.
That's why I can't die.
If I go, who else will make them smile?
I think again...
My scars.
My bones.
I've already sought out ways to die.
How many times I've been on a parking structure,
wondering how hard it would be to jump and end it all.
This isn't once.
It's every fucking time I stand on a parking structure.
Nay...
Every time I'm in some sort of tall structure.
I never could have done it, though.
I thank God I couldn't have.
I never will.
You see...
Life is gift, this the poets are right about.
I'd never be able to feel the love of a hug.
I'd never be able to breath the chilled airs of winter.
I'd never be able to embrace passion, full in force.
I could try to find fifty thousand ways to die, if I wished, but I won't.
Life can be hell, but if I will as hard as I can,
I'll never want to end it again, I pray.
I will make it through this race, scathed as all can be, sure, but I'll take the prize in the end.