So Many Cuts

One cut, two and three.
The blood is bleeding free.

Cut number four,
She cuts some more.

Wrist cut number five,
Does she feel alive?

And now number six,
Did she get her “fix”?

Seven and eight,
She’s full of hate.

Nine, and even ten.
Will she ever breathe again?

Eleven, twelve, thirteen.
Has anyone seen?

Seen her pain and agony?
Or helped her go free?

Did you really ever know?
That her blood would soon flow?

Flow on the cold floor,
Leaving her painfully sore.

Her life in that horrible way,
She finally ended that very day.

December 10th, 2008