A Dream of Death

I feel the razor break my skin;

I feel the blood pouring out -

Sometimes a little,

Sometimes a lot.

I almost want death to come.

If it weren't for fear of God,

I'd set myself free.

I'd be happy.

I can feel myself fly away,

Free from expectations,

Free from haunting dreams,

Free from failure.

But then I have to come back,

And I lay here alone, thinking:

"I don't have the guts."

Instead I just cry.