I wrote a poem today,
I wrote it on my wrist,
I wrote it with a razor,
It ended in a twist.

The blade is sharp and narrow,
I do it to kill the pain,
But as I finished the first sentence,
The razor hit the vein.

I watched the poem run down my hand,
I watched it hit the floor,
I saw a puddle of blood,
And then I saw no more.

Bree Swart

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-poem-on-my-wrist/