I'm layin on the floor,
my wrists are bleeding,
more and more.
it's not blood of red,
but black like my soul.
there's no hope now,
for what i've done.
a razor in my hand,
and cuts in every direction.
i warned them all,
but still no show of affection.
i wanted them to stay,
but now they're gone,
and soon i will be to.
because when depression took over,
it infected my body, and mind,
for the rest of my time.
i have the blades,
now it's so sad
that my wrists are bleeding,
so very bad.
all i can do, is whisper goodbye,
now that i'm crying.
as i lay here,
so slowly dying.