Sometimes, I strike it low.

I hit rock bottom.

I fall.

And I'll lay there for a minute,

shocked by cold concrete.

Bare.

Skull-shattering.

There's a reason I'm here.

There must be, if everything happens for a reason.

Bad karma.

Bad luck.

Bad day. 

Bad stars.

Why then don't I finish the job

while I'm here anyway?

Grab a jagged rock.

One tally on my arm.

"I suck."

Two tallies on my arm.

"I'm worthless."

Three tallies.

"I hate myself."

Four.

"I deserve this."

Five. A diagonal slash. New row.

"No one needs me."

Six. 

"I have no reason to exist."

Seven.

"I'm better off alone."

Eight.

"I should just kill myself."

Nine.

"It's my destiny to die."

Ten. Diagonal slash.

"I'm going to kill myself."