"'I'm gonna draw a picture, a picture with a twist, i'll draw it with a razer blade, i'll draw it on my wrist."
-Anon.

The story of Mr Mann

Mr. Mann was driving his car, driving his car
to get away, far far away from this
world of men, men who he hated so much,
men who would not let him forget who he was just for a little while.

Mr. Mann then understood where he should go, he should go where others shall not dare to follow him,
Mr Mann parked his car, parked his car behind the alley,
beside the drug store.

Mr. Mann took a knife out of his pocket, a razor sharp knife,
and he thought for a while, a very little while,
and he tightened his grip and he cut his wrists,
slash slash slash, went the motion of his hand,
the blood poured out, blood so red and pure,
and the knife soon fell to the ground.
He was struggling to live, and he slumped to the floor,
dead as his dreams, the crimson still pouring out,
pouring into the street, past a local shaggy dog,
a shaggy dog who licked it, and fell to the ground too,
and it gushed into the gutter, where nobody would see it,
where nobody would care.