Writer's Aid discussion

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*trigger warning. *

Wrists are stained red
Veins that are blue,
Silver's the knife
Cutting both through.
Blood on the carpet
Dyeing it pink,
Fluttering eyelids
Windows closed in a blink.

Loud is the clatter
Of blade against floor,
Quiet the heartbeat
About to struggle no more.
Skin ragged raw,
Red of the wound,
Pulse of the heartache
As I stare at the moon.

Too much blood gone
I give up my fight,
My weakly sustained
And broken old plight.
As the colours dim out
and my head hits the floor,
Knowing it's for the last time
That I have lost this war.