foolish boy

He sat in the corner
Of his bedroom
And picked up his trusty friend
Made of metal and razor
Why of course
His trusty razor blade

Along his wrist
He slit it
Right over the tender vain
As he saw blood spill
He felt it
His need for terrible pain

As the blood dripped
And fell to the floor
Too excited
He wanted more
The foolish boy took it too far
And now he's lifeless on he floor

As his sister finds him
She now screams
But these weren't bad dreams
As the doctor examines him on the bed
The conclusion is drawn
Quite frankly,

He's dead.