I run into my room and slam the door and lock it
I fall to my knees by my bed, crying
I look up and wipe my tears and all traces of emotion from my pale face
I reach between the mattress and bed frame and grab the blade I keep there
I roll up my sleeve and press the edge of the silver blade against my skin
I can hear you pounding on my door, you're telling me not to do it
That there's a better way
But you're wrong
There is no other way, I'm hopeless
I drag the blade from my elbow to my wrist
I hear you leave; you're going to get the key to my room
But by the time you get here it will be too late
I've already cut to deep,
As I feel my life draining away, I think of the good old day
The days when we were friends, not rivals or enemies
The days when you unintentionally made me fall in love with you
I hear the door open and your frantic screaming
You're calling my name, telling me not to go, to hold on
But it's too late; with my last breath I whisper the only thing I was ever scared of
"I love you mello"
'You'll finally be number one, are you happy?'