I wish my pain would go away,
but i know,
that its here to stay.
To leave this world would be so nice,
leaving my body,
as cold as ice.
That would show them,
then they would see,
that my death isn't a question of 'if' its of 'when.'
My soul cries out to be set free,
so it can fly away,
away from me.
The blood that runs freely down my arms,
soothes my spirit,
like a charm.
The razors I hide look so great,
they want to take me away,
from the things i hate.
I want them so badly but stop every time,
and question myself,
'Are these thoughts really mine?'
But this time i don't think I'll stop,
and onto the floor,
loudly ill drop.
Blood pouring from the slits in my wrist,
the beautiful razors,
clutched in my fist.
Death will take me and happy ill be,
because my spirit,
will be set free.
