Writer's Suicide
It's really quite simple,
watch, I'll show you.
Flip your wrists,
turn them upward,
now bend them back.
grasp...
Slice deep,
bleed your mind,
let it go...
Painful?
It's better that way.
Now watch it trickle,
drop by drop, float down
blue, now red, it flows
a rasp of wind falls,
a gasp of air chokes.
heavy is your breath,
exhale...
it's all stale anyway,
no need to breathe it back in.
Feel the thunder of your heart?
Faster and faster,
it falls like night's approach
until your mind cuts deep
and hangs the sun once again...
Does it matter?
No one will ever see the whites
of your sunken eyes,
they only see the spills of crimson,
your trickled thoughts
scribbled on paper rags
as you die one more time
from within...
Copyright © Sandra Adams | Year Posted 2012
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