Hurt.

I open up my bedroom door
and take a step outside
The lights are off, its hard to see,
but I find that I don't mind.
I stumble through the darkness
and trip some down the stair,
i make my way to the kitchen
and I tie up all my hair.
I reach into the counter drawer
and search for something cold;
I pull out something metal
and my fingers take a hold.
I run the blade across my wrist
Make a deliberate line,
Drops of blood run down my arm
and I begin to lose track of time.
Before long theres more cuts than one.
More red than ever is there.
My arm hurts bad and there's a mess on the floor
but really, I don't care.
I wrap my cuts in bandages.
I pray that I can hide.
If I'm not in school tomorrow,
you know I must have died.