Such A Tragic Suicide*

There's a boy crying out tonight.
Each and every day he lives in fright.
He wants someone to talk to about his fears,
someone to wipe away his tears.
He wants someone to ask him if he's okay,
so he can admit that he doesn't think he'll make it through another day.
He wants someone to just be his friend,
someone who'll be there until the end.

Now, it won't be long,
until he's gone.
Someone needs to help him or,
he'll kill himself with the razor.
He can't wait much longer,
before he begins to wander.
Into the bathroom he walks,
he checks to make sure the door locks.
He decides to quit.
Now he's going to end it.
He cries.
But these tears aren't only from his eyes.
They're crimson tears from his wrists,
the wrists that the razorblade recently kissed.

He left a note and it said,
"I couldn't stay, it's better off this way. But I'm sorry that you had to find me dead, in this pool of blood so red."

For years now his family has cried,
because their boy died,
such a tragic suicide.