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