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You pick up the blade, you clean the old blood off of its cold steal.

You sharpen the blade and make it have a nice precise point to it, then you repeadedly stap your self.

The pool of blood on the floor is like a little pond of crymson red.

You stop, then put the blade in the other hand and begin to stab the other arm with all the stanght you have left.

Your arm's are coverd in blood when you finnaly stop.

The crymson red liquid is still running from your arms onto the flood.

Your arms are numb now there is no pain left.

You try and stop the blood flow but you cant.

You wonder if this was your finnal atempt, you think "did i actually do it this time? am i finnaly done? is anybody going to remember me? is anybody going to cry over the loss of my life? is anybody even going to visit my grave after i am gone? was my life just a waste of time?"

death comes to all who ask for it and thoes who dont ask for it.

death can come easily or painfully.

death can be cut in or naturaly work its way in.

sometimes death just feels so much better than life its self so why not just let death come quickly and take the blade and cut death into our lives.

death looks so beautifull when it is not staring you in the face but when you want to star death in its face just start to cut at your veins and let the blood flow to the ground.