I feel blood, crimson red, rush out of my pale arms. It floods so fast that i can't stop it. The razor blade is sharp, and inviting, almost friendly like. I slice through the skin, telling myself I'm done. Nothing more for me. To me, I'm dead. Nothing can change that. Not the love of a friend, not a hug from my family, or a kiss from your lips. I see your face every time the cold, silver blade touches my pale skin. Slice, cut. Don't look back. Feel the quick fleeting pain, then let it go.
