Criss-cross goes the blade.
Across my skin, hardly a shame.
I watch the blood as it drips.
Down my wrist.
And on my hips.
My mind screams.
My eyes are closing.
But not the cuts.
Those are wide.
Gushing with blood.
So as I bleed out.
I take one final breath.
Because I believed no one would love me.
Till.
I'm.
Dead.
