The Blade

I rush home with tears streaked upon my  face.

As I escape school, a hurting place

To my drawer, I open and take

a handle of black with a sharp silver blade.

To the bathroom mirror I race

And with knife in hand, I trace

gashes litter my arms with scars that fade

And pain has my body encased

But my tears of sadness are replaced

With a smile so deranged and crazed

Its a wonder I haven't gone insane.

This is what life is: A dark, neverending space

That removed my heart with its cold mace.