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deepundergroundpoetry.com

Relief Comes After Pain

Soft, warm, new flesh.
A sharp, shiny, new blade,
poised precisely on the thick, blue line
running down my wrist.
A fresh, new cut,
scarlet ink, dripping from my arm.
There is a beauty to it,
a certain aesthetic quality.
Feeling the warm liquid on my skin,
I slice again.
A steady flow of blood is produced,
a small puddle is developing on the floor.
The puddle grows until it is a pool.
Everything is spinning,
warping, changing before my eyes.
My head feels light as a feather,
next, heavier than an anvil.
A few heavy breaths,
then, darkness.
And oh, how peaceful it is.
Death.