Don't really have a name... call it what you want.

I sit in my room, alone in the dark.
I press the cold metal against my skin.
I rock back and forth, staring at another mark.
I press even deeper, the cut still thin.
I let the tears fall, anticipating the pain.
I think back now, my heart torn apart.
It starts beating fast, i feel of no shame.
The blood appears now, it's what i wanted from the start.
Pulling the knife away, droplets of blood rolling down my arm.
I lay my head back, my body feeling weak.
I slowly close my eyes, hearing the distant sound of an alarm.
The cut in my arm, looking so deep.
Will it be too late?
I whisper good bye,
Knowing that this is my fate,
For it is time, that i die.