I fall to the tiles,
of my bathroom floor,
the lock clicked shut,
on the old wooden door.
I couldn't take it anymore,
all this regret and sorrow,
It's all too much.
Will they remember me tomorrow?
I reach in my pocket,
fingers graze something sharp,
I pull out my only friend,
slightly leaving a mark.
I run the blade over my skin,
i shiver at it's touch,
Friendly Razor do my bidding,
I beg and begin my first cut.
The feeling is a good pain at first,
which soon turns to lust.
The feeling of release it brings,
So harming becomes a must.
I draw two more or maybe three,
in a type of trance,
sticky red liquid oozes from me,
across the tiles to dance.
The last thing i saw was the door broken down,
as my parents came in for me.
Then everything all soon blacked out,
So now you've read my story.