Irony

Morbid suicide,
Since there's nothing left to try.
Blood spills,
from the wounds that never heal.
I walk by,
see you crying,
See you scared,
See you dying.
Don't know how to help you know.
The only way I can,
Is to take the bloody knife from your hand.
People come around,
Wonder why,
how you died.
They think it was murder,
Because no weapon was found.
A person stands trial,
I'm glad you'll never see.
The person they blamed after you closed your eyes,
Was me