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She looks at her wrists and sees that they're red,
She nods to the voices that talk in her head,
"Cut your wrists, open a vein,
"Let's take you on a walk down Suicide Lane,"
She smilesa little and moves her feet,
She bows her head to admit defeat,
She twirls the knife, her fingers itching to touch,
She promises herself she won't cut much,
She grabs the handle and makes it move,
Carves a ditch and creates a groove,
Red blood pours from the cuts she makes,
And she knows the scars will be her mistakes,
She'll cover them up in black sleeves all day,
Keeps extra's in her bag so she can run away,
Her parents won't miss her, they hated her now,
They don't care if she's dead, they won't ask how,
She pulls up her sleeve and traces the scars with a finger,
She embraces the feeling and lets her hand linger,
Replace a finger with a knife to retrace them once more just to feel,
Presses the knife in to make sure it's all real,
She closes her eyes as the blood runs down,
Lets out a sigh but it doesn't make a sound,
She wants to sleep, so she lays down in her bed,
She knows by morning she might be dead,
But she closes her eyes, keeps them shut tight,
She whimpers in her sleep, she's not doing alright,
Her nightmares are killing her from the inside out,
Her parents don't know what her screamings about,
She holds out the knife, she knows what it's for,
"Take a right to suicide, you know there's much more."

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