That knife

I watch her come towards me
and count the pink scars up her arm.
I feel the cuts on both our hearts,
like lines across my palm.

"Am I too lost to be saved?"
I heard the music from her room.
"I'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming."
Adding to her gloom.

The tears stream down her arm and face,
the pain of skin and soul,
sobs that wrack her weary body
as the sadness takes its toll.

She says she wants to en it,
that ignorance is bliss
but what she doesn't realize
is how much she'll be missed.

No matter how hard I tried,
I couldn't make her understand.
I couldn't seem to reach her
and take the blade out of her hand.

I want to stretch my arm out,
and take her by the hand
to drag her from the darkness
of this godforsaken land.

I want to be the whisper
that she hears every day
as she curls up in the corner,
"Oh please don't go away!"

I hope that one day soon
I can help her understand,
just how much we love her,
and take the blade out of her hand.