Razor

Razor.

Slowly I walk to my drawer.

Thinking about life, friends and family.

why , why do  I feel this way?

I grab this thing I call my best friend.

Dragging it across my scared skin.

Ill only do one that's all.

But it never just is one.

More and more.

One by one each cut gets deeper.

The blood comes pouring out of my  freshly cut skin.

and for a moment.

My world is still.

-C.R