Dead By Choice

A poem I found in one of my old notebooks yesterday.

I chose to pick up the blade,
watch it gleam in the light.
Ran my finger over the sharp edge
and smile at the touch.
It has always been my friend --
It will always be my friend.
The blade is cold, but the blood that runs through my viens is cooler.
Sharp edge barely cutting through the pain -- barely breaking me back through to reality.
Blood -- warm -- soothing -- rushing out of the self-inflicted wound.
It is my choice.
It's how I want it.
Let me go --
I'm dead by choice.

Author's Note

Once again, probably written in a math class.

Reviews

[Dom]

Great poem. very descriptive words that make vivid images. loved it :)

[Una Xoto]

Painful. The feel of the blade is the sharp edge of pain. I remember these feelings well. A nice write
& I hope a cathartic... release

[justjenn_2u]

I have always wanted to know what goes through a person's head that is a cutter. It intrigues me for some odd reason. I sense from this poem that pain is too much to handle, so to escape it, life is taken. A clear look into a person feeling pain and hurt.

[PhoeniX]

deep. good job