I'm writing you a poem today
I think you'd like to see
you were a little busy so I'm leaving it somewhere
that you can find easily
you'll come home
find my poem
and when you're not busy you'll read
hope you enjoy it as much as me
poetry etched not with a pen but instead a sharp razor
the ink leaks a dark red as I cut into the paper
I'm starting to feel a bit out of my head
as pools of blood stain circles around my bed
I tried to write you a poem in my wrist
but the pain just started to make the little razor twist
I fumbled with it as it fell from my hands
the pain, I can't control this
all these thoughts in my head passing by
the pain starts consuming and I start asking myself why
did I feel that it was so necessary just to die
as I'm lying here, blood trickling from the bed to the floor
I'm starting to wonder how much longer... how much more
will it take before this pain finally goes away
I start feeling my eyes close but not before I see my parents open the door
I begin to fall into a deep sleep wondering if I will ever awake from this mistake