Stupid Don't they think I know? That I am stupid? Why do they make a point, Of telling me, Over, and over again? Place a gun to my head, Feal the rush. Didn't want to die, Not like this. Anger throbbed in my mind, Visions of death filled my head. I was blinded from teals of Hate. Anger. Hurt. I reached out and felt, Something sharp, Smooth. Even if death was an escape. It would have to do. I dug the objest into my wrist, And fell ti the ground. Crying. For that day I realized I WAS stupid... For listen to them