Too Far Without A Meaning Poem by Emma Jane Pearson

I sit here alone,
But not with terror in my eyes,
But sadness in my voice.
What hurt most is words of suicide,
What hurt less are wounds on my body.
I think about it;
One cut, two cut three cut- four.
It would be an easier way out,
Well, so they thought as well.

They see the razor blade,
So shiny, but so blunt-
If only it was sharper,
So they add that extra effort,
Just in case of failure.

But the effort was too much,
The river of blood, now the colour of the carpet,
wouldn't stop.
Something that was meant to be so small,
Turned out huge and unstoppable.