My Cuts

Every day you see my wrist,
With many cuts engraved on them.
Each scar reminds me of my life,
Painful and hard to live through.

So low of blood I try to sleep,
Trying not to die.
Even when I know,
I am destined to go.

I'm sorry to you
I'm sorry for me.
I cut myself with this knife,
With many blood dried on them.

Oh I feel so dead,
Even when I know I breathe.
My cuts... so painless,
Yet many cry.

This stupid death of his,
that made me like this.
Cutting myself,
And crying to sleep.

Trying so hard to be with him,
Yet I know I'll never be.
I lost him once,
And now forever.

Never knew how much it hurt,
The cuts on my wrist made.
With these cuts engraved on me,
Shows how much I care for him.

My cuts... with many meanings,
Stabbed unto the bleeding wrist.
I try to die with one last cut,
Yet I never see the blinding light...

(I finally found the rhythm to this poem and realized I should continue it because xtine convinced me on the comment she wrote before.)