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As I may want to cut my wrist the blood come out drip by drip.Then I look at my life I hate the way i am so I put the knife to my neck and scream. . .I slit my own neck. . .so no one else can take my life.The few seconds that I have coughing on my blood.I watch the pooring out my neck. . .trying to taste it. Looking at myself in the mirror. .laughing to myself and say. . .success

No its not a poem. . .its just something i felt like writing