The Knife

I lay on my bed,
And search my room,
For any remnants,
I could find of you.

It seemed to me,
You'd always be here,
I guess I was wrong..
This is what I feared.

I feared you'd be gone,
And out of my life,
Oh how I miss you..
I don't like the knife. 

The knife is still here,
When you, are not.
And now, quite frankly,
It's all I got.

I slit my wrist,
And begin to weep,
Is this what it takes,
Just to sleep?

(As I fall into a deep slumber,
Memories of us haunt my mind.
There was so many-An unreal number.
It ends up like this, every time.)