What am I doing?
I must be sick.
My body is cold
my blood is thick.
Tears run down
my sullen face.
With my sharp knife
my veins I do trace.
The clock chimes mid-night
as I grab a wet rag.
Cleaning up the blood
is really a drag.
I have just one reason
to do this sick deed.
That is to be in control
so my body is freed.
My parents would freak
if ever they knew.
I hear footsteps
oh God what do I do?
Forget it too late
I grab for my knife.
My mother walks in
as I take my own life.
~truth be told i do cut but ive nvr tried suicide~
