Death is Never Pretty

Free

The razor is talking again.

It's taunting me

It's begging me.

I threw it away swearing never again.

It's in my hands.

So smooth and light.

The blade sharp and ready to cut.

Just a graze I tell myself.

The dark red paint is spilling

Out of my wrist and falling on the floor.

I can't help but to smile.

My eyes are closing

My smile growing wider.

I've gone mad and I know it.

I wake up in a hospital.

My mother who calls me a whore

Sits beside me sobbing.

My father who abuses me

Sits in handcuffs to my left crying.

I don't love them.

They don't love me.

That's how it works...

It's always been like that.

3 months later I hold the blade again.

This time I made sure no one

Would interrupt.

This time I killed them.

This time I cry not wanting to leave

But I know it's the right thing to do.

I close my eyes one last time,

Squashing them shut.

The blade kisses my wrists

The blade kisses my throat.

Finally freeing me.

I'm finally free.

Free.