Ode to Razors

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----------------------- (Dedicated to my suicidal times)

(Attn: I never cut and nearly commited suicide before and I am done being suicidal six months ago- I am just creatively writing and sharing my experiences and feelings.)

Blood, as red as roses, run down my arm in defeat...

My arm is criss-crossed with tiers and tiers of cuts...

My mind is drifting off to a temporary sleep...

My body aches to feel the hugs that everyone wish for...

-------------/-/-//-//--//-//--/---//--/-//////-

My heart beats slower and slower as the blood streams...

I am worth nothing to the society that has claimed rule...

In this own society, I am left behind...

Why am I left alone to die!?

-/-///-/////-//-/--/---/-/-/--/-/--/-/-

My voice, deemed mute by everyone else...

Does anyone know how much of my life has been a hell?

I wonder why I am doomed to screaming silently,

is it because of who they think I am to be?

Only they seemed to refuse to tell.

-/-///////////-----------/-/-/----/--/-/

All this time, I feel like I have never felt whole.

Each day, each night, I noticed I am getting crazier...

Why does death feel soo cold?

Is this what it feels like to be nothing and hollow?

My bestfriend and paintbrush is my razor.

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