The drops of blood upon the poem,
My ocean of words drowning of gray foam.
My black sky of toxic smoke,
Underneath I fell asleep, never awoke.
My blade from the bathroom vanity,
My desired craving, erased the misery.
I write to you, one more time,
Upon the wrist, the scar is mine.
Fear nothing, not yet, I havent died.
These are just sketch notes for my suicide