My Suicide

Sixteen years is a long journey,
But I'm nearly there.
Just one more thing to push me
And I'll no longer care.

A fifteen-year-old girl shouldn't think of such things,
But I can think of nothing else.
I wonder will angels guide me on wings,
Or will I be left for the devils.

I press on the blade until I run red
And wait for this sadness to die.
I wonder, my last thought before I am dead,
When they find me, how many will cry?