A line.

The first time I died it started with a line. A line I painted, not too deep, very fine. The line became two, four, eight, sixteen My life then seemed to balance on a thin beam One cut, a little too deep, a little too thick I gripped my wrist as everything began to slip Too deep, too thick. I press harder starting to feel sick How did this, start with a line? Wearing long sleeves claiming I'm fine. But this is the time I died. Not physically but a piece of me was no longer alive. A line.... not too deep, very thin The demons in my head win again. It's just a line. A line I painted In pain or fear, I waited till I fainted. No one knew about my art. Probably why it went so far. A line... not too deep... very thin.