Red pour

The lies become more frequent,
The pain becomes more numb,
All the while I'm sitting here holding on,
Grabbing and pulling holding onto you.

The blades become more sharper,
The blood flows more freely,
One, two, three, four,
All the knives locked up in my drawer.

Noticing the silver metal,
Wanting nothing more than to hold it,
Run it through my fingers,
Let the red pour.