Suicide

As she cried,
The blood flowed onto the floor.
It started slowly,
Like a small trickling stream.
But by now,
It was flowing swiftly down her arm.
Even though she was crying,
There was no pain.
All she could fell,
Was her sorrow being lifted.
And that was how they fond her.
She was huddled in the corner,
In a pool of her own blood.
Her wrists were cut,
But you could see happiness in her eyes.
She had finally left,
And was free.
Now nothing,
Or no one could hurt her again.
She had been freed form her presentment.