The suicide hotline blinks in my head
Like an open sign to a store I don't want to go in
It's a sobering reminder that I am here and I am real
Some days I think about calling
But I'd rather not be here than be stuck and full of shame
for getting help for being broken
And I can't bring myself to call
no matter how many pills I've swallowed
Or how much blood drips
My phone lays lifeless on the floor and so do I

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