In that hour, quietly inside a stark white tiled room,

I took a life that had no worth; that darkness had long consumed.

The shining of welcome night was cold against my skin,

And in a flash of life's built up rage, I felt that blade sink in.

Down my wrist that merciful sting of cold did slip,

And from that slip my body's warmth I watched slowly drip.

So in the corner of that room I felt my body lie,

My eyes looked last upon the world and uttered not a cry.

My mind dwelled in thoughts of things that soon would be lost,

For such freedom, such peace to gain, I paid a heavy cost.

No longer would I be, not here nor ever more.

I'm sorry for I can no longer feel; of warmth, of love, of grace,

All were taken with flowing speed and left a deep scar trace.

For on that night, no matter what the doctors grin and say,

I lost all hopes, a life, a soul, and watched them slip away.

And in that night all that was left was and empty, tattered shell,

For no longer would feelings, warmth, or love inside me ever dwell.

And yet you have the nerve to look inside these cold dark eyes,

And speak of this great god of yours and how he values lives,

For what god of mercy would allow such sorry within me?

What god would allow such a life as mine to continue to be?

Dare you not speak of a soul you say that lies inside,

For there is no soul, god, or hope behind these cold dark eyes.