Porcelain Doll

The knife met her wrist; For every tear that went unshed, For every moment spent in sorrow, For every emotion she became too numb to feel, She felt the pain; The sting of the blade on her soft skin, The tingle of warm blood as it pooled from her arm, The anguish and relief of her sorrow finally coming to an end, Then... She felt nothing; Her body didn't ache with years of unknown suffering, Her skin didn't burn from the heat of her own flames, Her soul didn't feel trapped and restless in her dragging body, Just when the vast nothingness seemed to end; The knife met her wrist,; She felt the pain; She felt nothing; She felt joy; It flowed over her in an overwhelming cool breeze, Cooling the flames of agony and pain that burnt her, Healing the wound the knife had carved, Relieving the sorrow she never showed, The knife had been replaced; with soothing love. The life she chose to take, The life that was her own, The life she thought was spent alone, Was saved, by someone completely unknown.