The sight of my blood trickling down my arm
Slowly at first but quickly turning into red rushing down my wrist
The smell of lit matches burning through something
that should have never been touched in the first place
Holding my throat contemplating whether or not to squeeze it
Until it bruises purple and blue
The feeling of not wanting to be alive
Ah yes
What a wonderful bliss of forgetting my thoughts
as I drift away to never be heard from again