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A (Death) Wish Come True
  Dabbed on her eyes was a carpet of black shadow
  the charcoal mural on her face didn't cover up the sallow
  Etched into her skin were stories written in red ink
  the letters of each tale seemed to interlink
  Pressed against her hip was a rusty razor blade
  leaving everything but her jeans permanently frayed
  Rubbed into her skin was blood from last night's cry
  the sizzling, singing stream of red let loose too many times
  Edged onto a small paper slip said something painfully true
  cross one's heart and hope to die carried a meaning new
  Slowly the stings shot from the cold metal
  radiating agony exposed the girl's weak mettle
  Suicide would strike sometime soon
  little did she know that her wish would come true

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I swear I'm not depressed. I know a lot of my stuff is about death, but I like to write about death so maybe I'll be able to understand it better.