Like My poem

One razorblade And a million cuts No matter how much I hurt myself It dosnt seem enough Locked up in the darkness of my heart The key has rusted The door is shut Blood trickles down my cheek No not tears But the red liquid that Falls down my wrist Life was my sketch book But when I would try and Draw something I wanna see It smears and runs off the page’ My mind incinerate my thoughts They strike to destroy A hint of happiness And like a candle it soon Burns out And only leaves the ashes....