They tease me, ignore and often bore me

They don’t see what has instore for me

They talk to me like what they have said wont lore me

Into their trap of therapy


I’m just a statistic, a suicide count

They say the dashes across my wrists are cries for attention

Although they try to reach for prevention

The helpless blinds them as I forget to mention

I slit my wrists with a small amount of apprehension


I do, I seek and cry for help

For all I really need

Is someone who is there and not full of greed

Instead of having to watch myself bleed

Someone to do normal teen stuff with, like smoke some weed


Now I sit here begging and pleading

That just maybe some one person will read

This stupid poem to explain my head

But I still sit here stuck in my bed

Secretly wishing that I was dead


Planning the ways to end this life

Knowing I’ll never get a wife

Slitting my wrists with that dimensioning knife

And now im just trying to make some kind of strife

To societies norms, that just are not right


Depression effects more than you think

Even the happiest, have some kind of link

To this horrible sickness that I cannot sink

To the life I have lived


Now I have arrived

To the end of this poem

Showing I am deprived of a teen life

And I advise, if you know someone, get some help

For all we want is to be revived

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