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.

Slow heartbeat,

The rush of red.

My brain drugged,

Sweetly, slowly slipping.