Sanity's Gone

That razor blade on my arm
looks so appealing at times.
But i don't want to mutilate myself to please the demons in my heart and soul.
what do i do?
who do i tell my sorrows to?
Someone who won't judge me,
people like these are hard to find.
my blood is falling drop by drop,
into a puddle on the floor, is a pleasing image.
the last drop falls from the razor as
my last shred of sanity is lost.