Cuts

It starts out with just one,
Then grows to a few.
No one know what you have done.
They dont know what your going though.

You dont think no one would care,
And most of them do not.
You feel life is unfair,
And you wont get caught.

You pick up the blade,
Then put it to your wrist.
You dont know the mistake you made,
But you couldn't resist.

You could feel a lot pain,
But to you it was worth it.
You would never complain,
And you would never think to quit.

All the cuts begin to fade,
Each turns to a scab.
You pick up the blade,
Then begin to stab.

You pick up a knife,
And think about what your about to do.
This will change your life,
Can you follow though?

Here is you a black rose,
Of course it stands for death.
Now everyone knows,
You took your last breathe.