Crooked Lines

The cuts across my wrist.

As I cut and I a fist.

The first one, then the second, next the third

My pain shall not be heard.

I cannot get it straight

As the cuts describe my fate

My fate, my future, my life.

They aren't enough.

I need something better, or stronger

My head is pounding as I make the cut longer.

Longer deeper better.

The tension is high and I am low 

Crying out tears as the blood from my wrist flows.

I need the release the cuts aren't enough.

I'm done enough, enough, enough.

As I cut I'm shaking making crooked lines

As the blood burst out as a rappers rhymes.

The blood drops as I cry my last tear.

The noises around me surround me with fear.

I don't want anyone to know

Somehow I have got to leave I have to go.

My face is as sour as a very sour lime

I cannot control these crooked lines.