Blood on the Carpet

Blood on the carpet

I wonder if anyone care, that I already dead inside an have been for years; struggling with the thoughts of  losing the only life I will ever had. Now that I’m seeing  the blood pouring out of my veins; from the cuts I have made, to the carpet I fall; no need to call for help it to late; there is blood on the carpet an I don’t care. I can feel my hate of myself leaving my pulsing heart; the profound thing is I starting to feel better, oh God what have I done. I’m sorry suicide is my end; my blood on the carpet will always remain, an remind the family of my desolate end. But I do care at last; about ending  my life an; thoughts of living enter my mind, wants again. As I craw to the phone and cry for help; there is blood on the carpet and the ambulance rushing  for me, but it to late. I die at the end they arrived to late. I am sorry I had such a gruesome end; an that the blood on the carpet, reminds you of me once again