Flirt With Suicide

Stricken with misery, I dig a razor into my skin,

then a burst of soothing relief rushes in.

Finding rapture, captivated as crimson blood drips,

having lost myself, I can't get a steady grip.

Locked in a trance, I press piercing razor too deep,

coping with grief, I'd rather bleed out than weep.

The blade, so sparkling and beautiful, yet cold and gray,

the result of this instrument is always shame to pay.

My wrists are consumed by the razor's kiss,

this shining light is my drug, my state of bliss.

Concealed in this room of suffering with nothing to live for,

this gleaming blessing is the key that will unlock this door.

But the harmless cuts are just aren't enough,

I need something more, something rough.

Every day, flashes run through my head,

me lying pale, my veins gushing red.

I wonder if I should finally give in to the blade,

dreaming for the last time as my life begins to fade.

I flirt with suicide,

the only way to kill the pain inside.

Reviews

[Rob Santana]

Damn!!! The first line is brutal!!! I love it!! Well done, I look forward to reading more of your work.

[Alexa L. Draven]

Thank you. I'm happy to hear that.