A Story Cut Short

A bullet in the brain, to end all the pain,
A blade on the wrist, to end what exists.
A cut in the eyes, of all the other guys,
May seem cowardous, but not to the rest of us.
So let me write you a story, a story with a twist,
My pencil is my razor, and my paper is my wrist.
Im yelling so softly, yearning for a sound,
Because every time i fly, i slam into the ground.
So if you hear me, come running, provide me your help,
After all, you see, my cards have been dealt.
I need your hand to grab, to get me out of this hole,
If not ill just keep drowning, into a deep blackening soul.
Im almost out of fight, and the war is just beginning,
Soon enough im scared to see, that i might be an ending.