Diary

The first poem I've ever written that doesn't rhyme. Not sure how good it is. Comment please.

In her diary she writes everything she sees,
She writes all she feels and all she hears.

But this is not a traditional diary, it's not in a book,

The paper is a wrist,
The pen is a blade,
The ink is blood,
And the finished products are the scars, and the death it soon will bring.