And in front of a mirror,
here i stand
holding a blade
in my shaky hand.
Tears from my eyes forming small streams
i might be broken, or at least, it seems

It seems that something is wrong with me
But..-i ask myself- what would that be?
The blade drops to the ground
Leaving behind a quiet sound
That soon gets shushed by another one

Footsteps.

My dear mother looks my wrist
I try to say "i'm sorry" but the words wont come out of my mouth

Silence.

Silence louder than any other note.
Yet so quiet.

A sound breaks the tension.
The same footsteps, yet different.
Footsteps of dissapointment.

I'm a mistake.