The Slits On My Wrists

The slits on my wrists
Are a form of bliss

Sliding the cold razor against soft skin
Watching the crimson blood flow with a slight grin

Moaning in pain I do it again
Wincing slightly I hear my name

I lock the door and grip the blade
I dig deeper watching the floor as it gets sprayed

God the blood is so red
I feel like I'm already dead!

This burning sensation in my limbs
It crawls all over my skin!

Stop this horror!
Stop this fright!

I give up
I'm no longer going to fight!

The blood stains my white carpet
I laugh once more like an estrained pauper

Driping with red
I will finally get rid of this dread

And forever be dead.