name it yourself

every night my knife’s in my fist
when i bleed it moves to my wrist
every night i try and try
thinking maybe i will die
i always stop because im afraid
to see the blood soaked on my blade
nobody suspects me of doing this
because i seem like a joyful bliss
but im nothing of the sort
every night in my fort
it has become a beautiful sight
now its time i say…goodnight