Unusual Addiction (About Cutting/suicide)

I do not really want this, but I see no other way to live. I pick up my shiny blade and press it to my skin.

I have done this to many times to count and will do it everyday, because if I don't I won't be strong enough to stay.

I know that I'm addicted but I don't know how to stop. Self-harm is a drug in a way, you will get to the point where you cannot go without it for a day. I watch the blood run down my arm falling from my fingertips. I look at the crimson colored pool forming on the floor and all I hear are screams in my head, "I want more!"

I can feel myself slipping and I crave to give in. If I do let go of my life and breath my last breath, I will finally obtain my much needed rest. "I gave life my best shot," I say as I tear through my arm.

I was to weak to raise the blade but not weak enough to die. It was just another suicide attempt, just another day. Depression deceives me, holds me in its grip perhaps tomorrow, I will make it.

Suicide is a common death. Many teenagers steal there last breath, thousands everyday. Tomorrow I may be one of them or perhaps even you. Don't be afraid of the blade it can relieve your pain, and if you trust it enough to die, you will feel hurt no more, "So pick up that trusty blade what are you waiting for?"

Rate my poem if you want, I'm new so I'm interested in what people think of it, thanks