The blade goes into my wrist,
again and again.
The blood begins to seep,
to the surface of my skin.
As the floor gets cold,
and the room goes dark,
I dig the blade into my wrist,
to make one last mark.
The room goes black,
and I hit the floor.
I try to stand up,
I try to reach the door.
But I cannot move,
I cannot breathe.
I cannot hear,
and I cannot see.
I can't see the blood on the ground.
I can't hear the voices in my head.
I can't do shyt,
Because I'm dead.
