A Wedding

A girl sits and cries,
The tears stream down her eyes,
She slides the razor down her wrist,
Her hand balls into a fist.

She watches as her blood hits the floor.
She keeps glancing at the door,
Hoping he'd come through
It was suppose to begin at two.

Everything becomes a blur.
Now there is no cure,
She was suppose to be married,
But it had not carried.

Now she lies in a puddle of her own blood,
People would have thought it flood.
But it did no such thing
And now all the angels sing.