Hate
I grabbed the razor in my hand,
Slid it slowly across my wrist.
Blood slid down my arm,
As I studied it with bliss.
The pain's too great,
I'm full of hate.
I'm much too weak to go on.
I'm much too infelicitous.
I grab a rag; place it on my arm,
And lay down in my bed.
I cry myself to sleep,
Full of hate and dread.
I wake up the next morning,
Feeling torn and confused.
I run up to my mom,
To tell of my abuse.
She promises to get me help,
With tears running down her face.
Knowing I'm not alone,
I now have no more hate.
