• 1 year ago
  • 56 Views

I hate waking up. I hate having to deal with the consequences of trying to die the night before. The overdoses upsetting my stomach. The washing of my bloody bedsheets after the blood loss makes me fall asleep. The guilt of not being able to get killing myself right. I hate that my friends don’t care when I tell them. I hate “I’ve said all I can say” and then the undelivered messages.
Good people die all the time. Why can’t I be that lucky?

Comments are closed.