The silver object in my hand,
Glitters like the moon in its reflection on the water.
The twin blades of the razor beckons for the wound,
I have but no choice.
As the blood runs down my arm,
The razor slips from my grasp.
Red covers the floor in splatters,
And it covers my clothes.
Blood smears on my hands
As they struggle to cover the first wound.
Finally done and blood stained.
Once, twice, three is too much.
Blood stains my skin,
And now it is no longer washable.
As I fall into emptiness,
I feel it is life
For life is death.
I dream as if in sleep,
But it's only unconsciousness,
Which knocks near death's door,
As I'm rushed to the emergency room.
