I hold the razor right above my vein.
I wonder now if I will ever be the same.
I look around me at the things upon the walls,
and then I hear someone calling me.
It's God! It must be! It's God! Come save me!

I wonder if it is all worth it.
I wonder if anyone cares.
I've become the girl in the forth row, three seats back,
But I may know someone who cares.
It's God! It must be! It's God! Come save me!

The phone starts to ring.
I just let it. I just let it.
It's my pastor.
He wants to know how my poem is coming along.
I tell him I don't know.
I walk over to my dresser,
where it's folded, tucked away.

It reads,
"Dear God,"
and I finish it,
"I want to live."