Run down the arm, not across the wrist

A tight knot has formed
in my stomach,
the room is fading
and I'm breathing shallow,
arms limp
knees weak,
at the rate I’m going
the out look is bleak,
that’s what you get
when you cut too deep,

Run down the arm
not across the wrist,
that way you suffer less
and the death is quick

Body falls to the ground
and lungs empty final breath,
I have decided upon
eternal rest.