I’m sorry, mom.

When I was four my mother pushed me out of the street to avoid getting hit by a car. The accident rendered her bottom half useless, confining her to a wheelchair, but she saved my life. Everyday, she tells me it was worth it, as she strokes my cheek or pulls me into her. And now I lay here on the bathroom floor in a puddle of my own blood, razor blade in hand, shaking, and fading in and out of consciousness, I can't believe what I've done to her, what I will put her through, I want to take it all back but I can't because now the blood is pouring out of me quicker and everything is fading and I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry, mom fills my head she always said it was worth it but no, what difference did it make she will find me here, dead, and even though I want to reverse my decision it's too late she will lose her only daughter. The thoughts cease.