Obeisance to Death

There's a tiny cut on the side of my hand.
The hollowness ferociously stabs me inside.
My knees will buckle if I even try to stand.
I wonder how much more pain I can continue to hide.

There's now a few cuts on both my scarred thighs.
Silence may not be the best answer right now.
I'll give away to a stranger the secrets between my thighs.
The blood's coming faster than I expected: how?

There's now just a small scratch on my wrist.
Maybe in a few minutes I can finally forget.
I can only wonder how we ever got to this.
I'm afraid everything about me you will forget.

There's a couple cuts now on my tingling wrist.
Some sort of adrenaline arises inside me.
My time has come to have my share of bliss.
Life will be so much better without me.

The new cuts on my wrist are very much deeper.
I can't feel anything except for the friendly inward pain.
I always only wanted you; you were a keeper.
Oh no! The blood spilled! It'll leave a scary stain!

From my wrist to my elbow is liquid red heaven.
Wait! Don't stop now! I'm only halfway there!
I used to wonder what state of mind I lived in.
I can't donate blood now; I don't have much left to share!

It's just not enough. I know! I'll cut open my neck!
I hesitate for a second; my vision starts to blur.
I'm dead now; at my corpse the buzzards will peck.
I wish I could've told her how much I love her.

{A book of poems I've written about death, depression, suicide, and self-harm. Read at your own risk.}