Harakiri

He put a razor inside my lunch pale

Along with heads or tails

I know he's hinting death

As I hide behind my veil

 

Need a pair of clippers

To cut my cutthroat nails

And I red pair of scissors 

To disguise the bloody trail

 

He wants me taking drugs

He wants me to be stuck

But, I'm sick of cartoon bandages

Concealing all of my cuts 

 

Four Years of purple uniforms in unison

Crumpled up detention slips

Clips in Phantom binder clips

Permanent needle stitched 

Inside my chapped lips

Here lies the Wrist Slit Prince

 

Hanging off these rails

Cannot petition the Lord with prayer

Should I go

Do I know 

This poem is about: 
Me

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