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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.