Drops of Soul

Blood drips down my wrist,

Running into the sink,

For death to come,

I am surely on the brink.

The tears I cry,

Fall down from hazel blue eyes,

They say not to go the coward's way,

and yet they give no reason to stay.

To start writing the note,

brings a fresh wave of sorrow,

to think my parents will find me

dead on the morrow. 

No doubt they will scream,

their despair past all belief,

and yet they pushed me to this,

So they should wallow in their grief.

The rope strung tight,

snug as a choker,

The pale moonlight 

shines softly down on my body.

This was a good end, 

Although I am sorry to say,

I can not write another poem

another day.