The Cuts on Her wrist

September 20, 2009
By , University Place, WA
'I feel at fault' I say once more
the pain floods back like an aching sore.
Tearing at my heart
the tears begin to start.

Her blood begins to pour,
the blood won't stop flowing,
and her depression seems to still be growing.

Her depression out of hand,
one razor to her wrist,
and it scares me, what is next...

I wish I could take her pain away.
But her pain is there to stay.
No more I can do for her,
because she needs to see it
with her own eyes,
she needs to see the truth.
That she doesn't need to cut herself...
That the throbbing cut will ache no more,
cause she doesn't need to cut herself.
And now it's not out of control.

Her viens are split open,
the tears begin to fall.
She cut herself to deep this time,
there's no way to go back.
"I'm free!" she exclaims,
although her price hurts badly.

Her eyesight loses focus,
and that's when she realizes,
she didn't say good-bye.
She has begun to abandon her friends,
she realizes she'll never see them again.

'I feel at fault' I say again,
I couldn't stop her,
no matter how hard I tried.
The depression was stronger,
stronger than our friendship,
I guess.

And now she lays buried in a grave.
A slave of the razor,
for eternity to cut herself...
over and over again.

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