Literature
More Alive
I slide the blade across my skin,
feeling the pain glide through my softest skin.
The more blood that slips away,
the darker red my blood becomes,
the colder my body starts to feel,
numbingness washes over me,
the crystal clear picture becomes blurred.
My life hanging on by just a thread.
The closer to the edge I step,
A clear image of death is seen.
The more alive I start to feel.