All that I wanted for Christmas
Please help me I'm scared that I'm sinking
I just can't stop myself from thinking
Of the bottle of pills
The bottle of tricks
That could stop my descent
And signal the end
I am a strange sort of collector
Collector of feelings I guess
I know it sounds strange
But it helps to explain
The collection of scars on my chest
The prize piece of my collection
Would be this if I dared
But once bitten I'd stay
In the little black box
Rotting corpse or a pile of ash
My heart leaps in my chest
Just at the thought
And I'm not repulsed any more
I am trying to focus on the screen
So I don't look at the door
For if I do
I know I would leave
Cross the landing
This is my home now I'm sure
I know what my mum keeps in the bathroom
Although I left home long ago
I just have to check each time I come back
I find it useful to know
I am allergic to aspirin - what would 24 do?
The caffeine in the pills may just help me feel
Paracetamol - curer of all
Would 50 help cushion my fall?
My fall from grace -
I'd land flat on my face
Taste carpet whilst
The walls fell in around me
I look at my palms - they are bleeding
Clenched fists, sharp nails too tight
What would they say - on today of all days
If I just slipped away in the night
If I changed my mind
I could call a taxi
Speed off to QE2
Where they'd bleed me and drain me
Unscar me unmaim me
Clinicalise me
Categorise me
Sanitise me
Institutionalise me
And sweep my problem under their carpet
Strip me of hate
And replace it with pain
Tie up my guilt and present it to me
To let me know I was wrong
BUT
If so many love me why don't they notice
How I am feeling today and forever
And if they would miss me
Why does nobody kiss me
If I don't do it tonight
Tonight will last forever
(~especially without you to hold me~)
I'm shaking so much I'm missing the keys
Self hate such a powerful disease
My face thinks it's raining mascara left home long ago
My eyes are so green I'm amazed
Can't breathe as I cry so I may end up choking
My asthma may kill me yet
And no-one would know
If I deleted this note
That all that I wanted for Christmas was death
The feeling is starting to subside now
Which I suppose is for the best
The words, my catharsis, partly cleanse
But I still have the marks on my chest
I still have the blades
I still have the pain
And this razor sharp tongue to match
I know when I die it will be by my own hand
But my hand
With a metal edge
Not the cowardly action of consuming whiteness
Pain killers
Heart killers
It takes 2 to heal my headache
How many to heal my heart?
They couldn't succeed, I'm now too far gone
But 50 could help me to tear it apart
Leave this world
I want peace
If only at the end
But now's not the time
I always knew
what I'd do
Feel myself slipping
In a beautiful bath
With a beautiful song
Of despair
Copyright 1999 by _sPiDerBaBy_
Any comments? - mail me
