She tipped back her head and drank…
Reading the caligraphied poetry on the bottom of the glass, beautiful, deadly poems. IT was clawing at the door yet again, the sneaky little monster, and it had returned with a vengeance. From the other direction, HE advanced toward her with raised fist and flying spittle, bellowing insults and threats.
She ran… away, who knows where.
She kept running, running, running… off the edge of a cliff… into stalactites of knives, razorblades, and needles, slashing her wrists and skewering her heart.
Untill, sliced to pieces,
Down the bottomless pit, into…
An OCEAN of BLOOD and SALT TEARS
Dragged deeper by those who had jumped
(desperate, delirious, desolate of hope)
before her, begging her to join them
… Pulled out by hands encased in latex gloves, faceless, well intentioned tormentors in long, white coats.
They tie her to the table with gentle, strangling restraints to keeper her safe and to administer death.
They pry open unwilling jaws, pouring in pills; choke or swallow… Swallow.
Then there was darkness…
She awakes in the fetal position, with dry mouth, pounding head, and a tired heart (muscle).
The failure of 36 pills… 10 more than the time before, 20 more than the time before that. Rejected by the loving arms of death. Again.