The color of crimson <br />covers my wrist <br />as I sit and try to stop it <br /> <br />Why wont it stop did <br />I slice to deep? <br />did I hit a vein? <br /> <br />I must have because <br /> my floor is coverd in blood <br />the room is spinning out <br />and I am going cold. <br /> <br />The last thing i hear before i went limp <br />was my moms voice saying why did <br />she do this to her self <br /> <br />and she doesnt know i di it because of her<br /><br />Arielle Friese<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/crimson-18/
