by Queen of Sarab

Author's Note: To any of my friends who may read this- don't worry, I'm not suicidal this is just a contemplation of the act itselfNot from personal experience.

The world blurs slightly

Before my tear stained eyes

My eyes gaze, fixed vacantly

On the cold knife lying

A silent menace

In my lap

I lift it slowly,


Wondering vaguely about an object

So small

Yet able to take so much

My eyes,

Glazed with an unreachable numb,

Contemplate the soft skin

Of my inner wrist

And I press the sharp tip


Against it

Feeling the blade's ice

Cool the warm blood

Lying dormant beneath

But then,

Realization hits me like an anvil

I cannot push

I cannot feel the bite

Of knife into skin

Or see the crimson

Pooling against

The ivory of my wrist

I cannot

And the knife falls

With an unearthly clatter

Onto the floor beneath