Dripping Red

Crying while sitting on her bed, from her wrist dripping red. She thinks of all the things she has said, Needs to figure out what to do with life, tightening her grip on the knife. She thinks of all the possibilities but knows the affect with just a prick, Always wishing to be able to take back the painful nick. Is it him or is it her? She loves them both but can't decide, she won't make up her mind because of her divide. Her friends always getting the most joy, espescially when it involves guys. Thoughts of insults are always in mind, though people say all are kind. Friends always worry for her, trying to help her find a cure. But she knows that until she is no longer attached, Her wrists will always remain scratched.