Side to side the blade did slide.
Drip drop goes the blood.
Pouring like tears.
from the slits in my wrists.

At first it spills out slow.
Bead by bead the blood drains out.
As i cut it comes faster, gushing out over my wrists.
Like a red waterfall.

Each drop stands for another failure.
So many drops now.
The blood runs free now, down over my hands.
And drops silently over the white carpet.

The carpet represents my life.
The blood my failures.
Now the carpet is truly like my life.
Stained with failure that will never disappear.
 
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