His Fingers Trace The Narrow Path

His fingers trace the narrow path
The blue-blood river of his vein
Like a bird his razor glides
But only he can feel his pain

The slow release of endless tears
Falling from his eyes
The slow relief as countless fears
Swirl in the crimson tide

Blood red rain falls at his feet
From wounds he cannot hide
But criss-crossed scars mean little now
For he's emotionless inside

Author's Notes/Comments: 

For anyone who has ever contemplated, attempted or committee suicide, or been affected by it in any way :(

View intothedawn's Full Portfolio