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Today
I have slit my wrist for the last time.
this time deeper than ever,
as i lay here, blood draining from my body,
i can see all those that cause my scars.
i lay here and wonder if anyone would save me or let my die.
blood stained floors from my past, tell the stories of all my scars.
I never shed a tear, as i slide that cold blade across my skin.
My face a blank canvas.
I show no emotion, why should i give them the satisfaction.
My pain is what they feed off of, but if i do not feel.
They shall all starve.
