Last night I had a moment
In that moment I considered
What Iíve given up in order to be like I this
And I wondered if it was worth it
There is no me
And if there was, would it make this any easier?
I watched the moon lower
Lighting my room though my south window
The markings I created and about my arm
Itís not a question of "should I..."
I think in a depressed repose as I finger my arm
Itís the thought of "He doesnít want this..."
So, a sharpie is my defense, my outlet
Because I cannot let myself conquer Him
Thank you, Mr. Sharpie.