Suicidal

I am sittin'
Down on my bed.
Thoughts of nothin' to live for
Flow through my head.
Why should I bother?
I don't like my life.
I could just end it
All with a knife.
I think of my world
And how I'm alone,
As everyone hates me.
No one else is home.
Thinkin' again,
Don't bother sitting.
A knife's over there.
Isn't it fitting?
"Of course,"
Says the voice in my head,
"You could end now,
And not have to dread
About your future life.
No more strife,
If you end with a knife."
"I'm scared." I said,
Nearly half dead.
"The pain!" I cry,
"Do I really want to die?"
But if I'm dead,
The voice in my head
Will be gone.
And I won't try again.
I then thrashed myself further,
Not thinking whether
Or not I was right,
With this knife.
Then it hit me.
A bump on my head,
I woke up in bed.
Covered with blood.
"Too much blood," they said,
"And that hit on the head."
I could have died.
I was lucky I survived.
Lucky.
That's my new name,
And I'm back in the game
Of life.
---But there are others out there,
Who do end their life
After looking for the knife.