Warning-This poem contains graphic themes of suicide and self harm.

I find comfort in suicide.
When it's all your mind can think of,
it brings you comfort,
since it's just what you're used to.

I find comfort in train tracks.
It's the perfect place to slit my wrists with a razor,
while imagining getting run over by an oncoming train.
I can visualize my guts and blood covering the tracks,
as I walk along and can only hope death comes for me soon.

I find comfort in belts,
such a simple thing that's a problem for me,
because of the twelve times I've tried to hang myself with one.
Now I can't even close my doors.
"Can you keep yourself safe, Avery?"

I find comfort with my hands around my throat.
I gasp for air as I wait for my vision to go back.
My face turns purple.

I find comfort in the things you'd think would scare me.
Suicide brings me the relief that nothing else has given me.
Maybe if you knew what I've gone through,
you'd understand too.