Cuts decorate my wrists
(I've not fought a war)
Bruises paint my body
(I'm a mess of black and blue)
Numbness fogs my brain
(it's a "caine" that won't help)
And I prepare to jump.

Melancholy weakens my legs
(because who could love me?)
Guilt wrenches my gut
(it's all my fault)
Terror pitter- patters at my heart
(my God, I'm about to die)
And still I prepare to jump.

Legs climb onto the windowsill
(don't shake, don't break)
Music plays from down below
(how did the ground get so far away?)
Lights flash blue and red
(no, please don't be...)
And I don't jump.