A Game

I'm fooling myself in this game called life,

so I go to pick up a knife.

Why does being happy have to hurt?

While I'm trapped inside this prison of pain,

my eyes slowly begin to rain.

Who will come save me before it's too late?

I feel the metal freeing my skin,

though the metal is a piece of tin.

Why is no one here to help?

I feel the blood drip from my thigh to the floor.

I cry while I lie down on all four.

Does anyone even care that I am ripped open?

In the morning, my mother calls my name.

Well, to me, this was no game.

I'm sorry, I'm already gone.