Running Out Of Knives

It's never going to work,
no matter how much I try
people will only laugh,
on the day I chose to die.

But I'm running out of knives,
to help me ease the pain,
cause they always go missing,
when I need to find them again.

They are just doing it to anger me,
not to help me stay,
so I will find an easier method,
to help me fade away.

I find a blood covered blade,
the one I had used before,
hiding in the trash,
just taunting me to do more.

Tonight I wont give them the chance,
to shut the door on my intention,
tonight will be the very last time,
my name they will even mention.

I will not let them help me,
because its not going to do me any good,
especially when they hide my knives,
I feel less and less understood.

With one more little cut,
I wont worry anymore,
cause I wont be thinking about anything,
when I'm lying dead on the floor.

So I calmly hold my breath,
as I press the blade in deep,
never wanting to wake up,
from my self induced sleep.

The blood trickles down my arm,
as a tear falls from my eye,
knowing I won't even be noticed,
and no one will even cry.

My breath is getting short,
my wrists are on fire,
my vision is getting fuzzy,
I've fallen off the wire.

Everything is getting dark,
and I think this is the end,
as the blade falls from my hand,
my one and only friend.

©
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