Cut out of myself,

Cut it out like a cookie-cutter into soft dough,

Into my soft flesh...

Blood running down my arm,

As I hope this feeling will bleed out of itself,

This flesh, taken away, will destroy this poison.

It courses through me,

I feel myself dying.

Such a bitter end,

Full of bitter irony.

But then it would be over,

And if there's more,

Or if there's nothing,

There would be no more flesh to bleed,

Maybe then my mind would be at ease.

Torrents of acrimonious thought overwhelming me,

As I can no longer see,

Through open eyes.

I keep on telling myself I don't care that this happened,

And I wish I didn't.

And soon none of it will matter.

Because I will be gone,

Gone,

Gone,

Gone,

From this absurd reality,

All of these ignorant creatures,

Swarming, breeding, dying, and hurting me,

All for nothing.

I expect nothing.

My body falling away from my soul, as my body withers to the floor.

Then coming together again,

Pain again flowing through me,

The blood dripping feebly out,

For there is so little left...

I see it has turned to black...

From the venom coursing through my veins.

All of it emptying from me,

Into the cold air surrounding me,

As I am waiting for this to end.

I smile wearily.

I feel the knife,

Still between my fingers.


Around me,

The world seems to dissolve,

Only the feeling of the cold blade against my thumb.

Then nothing.