The blade against my wrist
The promise of sweet release
An escape into peace.
Everything mounts higher and higher.
Death and drugs and sex and pressure.
The daily toils that plague us all,
It's not getting better you promised it would.
Where is my happy ending?
My love story, my overcoming odds?
The inky blackness of death may bring
Its own savage cruelties,
I didn't think it could get worse.
The cutting little edge, jagged
Teeth on flesh.
A movement rips, tears away life and pain.
The rush of red.
My brain drugged,
Sweetly, slowly slipping.