Here is sit, crying, on the cold tile floor, watching the blood

Here is sit, crying, on the cold tile
floor,
watching the blood flow from my
arm.
 

Wanting my life to end.
Hearing voices in my head,
"You'll never be good enough,
give up already."

As the music blasts into my ears
I wonder if there will be a day
with no more tears, no more pain, and no
more fears.

I hope there will be a day when the burdens
of this place will
be no more. As I slowly motion my body
into the fetal postion I ask
myself
one question.
Why?