well up in her eyes
as she sits down on her bed and begins to cry.
Drop after drop, they stream down her cheeks.
The razor comes out, shiny and sleek.
Her blood flows like a river,
and now she's crying so hard she begins to shake and
The blade hurts like nothing else, but it was her last
She had no friends, of any sort.
And worst of all,
the boy she loved all of her life,
started walking with another girl down the hall,
it was like they were husband and wife.
But then she began to think.
She wiped her tears, and headed towards her sink.
She threw water on her face,
and looked at her self in the mirror.
And then she began to speak to aloud, but you could barely hear
"I can get through this, without cutting."
Then she turned and threw the razor in the trash,
along with all of her
problems and worries.
(I am in no way suicidal, nor do I
cut. But I wrote this to inspire