¡ TRIGGERING CONTENT FOLLOWS ¡
  contains themes of suicide, self harm, and mental illness

The mare haunts you in your sleep,
while the demons haunt you during day.
The mare bites at your dreams, hoping you won't make a peep,
and your demons tug at your mind, hoping you won't pray.
So you slit your skin again,
thinking that this time, it'll end.

Hopelessness falls from your eyes,
as you thought the blade was your friend,
but you made a mistake
and cut too deep.
The paint of your art slid to the floor,
seeping into the carpet that you grew up with.

The carpet, you spent your nights there,
soaking it with your tears,
but today, it was soaked in something thicker,
and it choked and struggled,
but it couldn't help as your vision grew thinner.
Movies flashed through your mind,
making you wonder how it had come to this.
What had you done
to earn the feeling of slitting your wrists?
Had you hurt someone without knowing,
or had someone hurt you, and the fuzziness had taken over?
Still, only two words flew from your lips
as you slid into the dark:

I'm sorry.