Today’s selection is a sad commentary on the feeling of hopelessness that leads to thoughts of suicide. There are many versions of this poem and probably more than I have found. It’s impossible to tell which is the original. My personal favourite is version 4…

Version 1
I’m going to draw a picture
A picture with a twist
I’ll draw it with a razorblade
I’ll draw it on my wrist.
If I should draw it correctly
A fountain will appear
Drowning all my sorrows
Drowning all my fears…
And as this fountain flows,
My life will disappear.”
~porschea~

Version 2
Even with wings
I cannot fly
My world gets smaller
As time passes by.

His cruel intentions
Have engaged in my head.
Too many things to worry about
So many things left unsaid.

So now I’m going to draw a picture
A picture with a twist.
I’ll draw it with a razor blade
I’ll draw it on my wrist.

As I draw this picture
A fountain will appear.
As I am pleased by the sweet release
My problems will disappear.

He knows not what I do
Or what I have done in the past.
Soon my life will slip away
I better get to him fast.

Even though he is not there,
Even though we are through,
I know that he cares about me,
And I still care about him too.

Version 3
I’ll draw you a picture
I’ll draw it with a twist
I’ll draw it with a razorblade
I’ll draw it on my wrist
And if I draw it correctly
A red fountain should appear
And it will wash away my pain
It will wash away my fear.
No more of all this yelling
No more of all this crying
Just this time
It’s only me
Dying.
~Linda Gonzales~

Version 4
I’m going to draw a picture,
A picture with a twist,
I’ll draw It with a razor blade,
I’ll draw it on my wrist.
And as I draw this picture,
A fountain will appear,
And with this flowing fountain,
My problems disappear.
This picture will be deep,
It cannot be erased,
And with its special ink,
The flowing will be chased.
Drip, Drip, Drop, ink will smear,
Can’t be saved, let me disappear.
Leave me, lose me,
Keep me from your world,
I know I don’t deserve to be here,
I don’t need to be told.

But now I am regretful
Of that picture that I drew,
As pretty as it is,
It was wrong for me to do.
All because I drew a picture,
A picture with a twist,
My pencil was a razor,
My paper was my wrist.
It was a pretty fountain,
To me it was dear,
It’s bad I feel like this,
But I’m sick of all the tears.
~Bethany Lee Dawson~

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