The first cut is always the deepest.
Atleast that’s what they say.
The second and third are always the worse,
But it’s how I pass my time away.
Red rivers flowing from a teenagers wrist,
I can’t help but wonder when I’ll make the final slit.
The blood keeps dripping
and the tears keep slipping.
The time has come & she’s ready to chose her weapon.
A shot of a gun,
A hit of a train,
A bottle of pills,
Or her favorite choice of all.
Slowly bleeding to death
at the vertical slice of a razor.
