• I look in the mirror,
    But what do I see?
    Red rimmed eyes,
    From crying bitterly.

    My cheeks are pure white,
    I look like a ghost.
    A parasite's in me,
    And I am the host.

    Shouldn't I do it?
    Or should I not?
    My mind makes itself up,
    My heart's gone to rot.

    The blade pierces flesh,
    The pain leaves me shocked.
    The cold of the blade
    Was something I'd mocked.

    On the cool concrete floor
    My life slowly drips,
    Taking with it the warmth
    That had once touched my lips.

    Should I say goodbye?
    Should I leave a note?
    It's too late for regrets,
    Or a paper handwrote.