Suicidal

People say me being suicidal makes me weak. I'm not weak, I'm numb.

It's like standing butt ass naked outside on the coldest of all winter nights; you see I am not weak I simply just can't fight. My lips are bruised, my body shivers. I can't walk let alone run.

You see the way the cold works is the same as depression your body goes numb. You see I stand here in what you call a birthday suit, but all the devil sees is vulnerable skin.

I can't breathe, I no longer give a fuck. Constantly crying and pleading and begging for help, but I never get any luck. I could never find a four leaf clover always feeling like the third wheel on a three leaf clover as humanity continued to beat me down over and over.

Three leaf clovers they become my friends, because it took three different people to break me down from within.

One killed me mentally..

Emotionally...

Physically..

Beating me down to the ground my face turned from one color to red.

Only the three leaf clovers catching my blood as I bled.

They caught my tears big ones as well as small. Then the seasons changed from summer to fall.

Then soon it grew bitter now here I am butt ass naked in the winter my three leaf clovers buried deep within the snow like how your skin covers up a splinter.

And with nothing to carry me my body goes numb, now when they beat me down I see red over white. The night grows silent as I give up the fight.

Being suicidal doesn't make me weak it makes me strong; hell I even feel wise because if you saw my demons you would probably cry or speak some bullshit like these demons don't faze me because you don't know pain you know pride.

But hey I've grown accustomed to demons I crave to meet them in death and speak one word... HI...

Because in death no one can hide.