Cuts and Bruises

I look at my arms and legs,
and feel a surge of hate.
Scratch marks, bite marks,
popping scars, and knife marks.
Looking at them made me cry,
and starting slitting,
wanting to die.
People wouldnt miss me,
I told myself over and over.
They wouldnt cry,
grieve,
or blame themselves.
There,
on my wrists,
a thin,
red line appeared.
Blood in the bathtub,
in the sink,
and on the floor.
A maroon color surrounds me on the floor.
My arms grow numb,
dropping the red blade onto the ground,
I sighed as I sunk to floor.
Warm,
flowing,
maroon-colored blood dripped down into my hands.
It gets harder to breathe,
NOT how I imagined it to be.
Lying in my blood,
waiting for the reaper to come.
My vision darkens,
heart slows to a stop.
The pain goes away,
and my sorrow is lifted.
I fly away,
finally free.
No more abuse from parents,
dogs,
and myself.
Finally free,
I whisper.
It carries on the wind,
going to everybody on the street.
Lights turn on,
people go onto their front porches.
Children cry,
gripping their mothers skirts and jeans.
I fly away,
into the clouds.
Light shines onto me.
I smile...

(This was publishes after I entered it into a contest)