Suicide

A blob of deep red seeping from my arm.

So pretty.

Don't worry, I won't do any lasting harm.

I'm sensible.

The cuts get deeper as the days go by.

It doesn't hurt.

The more blood lost, the less tears cried.

I never cry now.

People are saying I'm going mad.

I'm not.

Maybe I am, is it normal to feel this bad?

Of course.

This time is really confusing me.

Don't panic.

You can't escape from it; there's nowhere to flee.

So fight it.

Scars spread ever closer to my wrist.

What's happening?

I know what to do, I can't miss.

No, don't.

Searing pain shooting up my spine.

Make it stop.

A dizzy head – but I'm feeling fine.

Don't fall.

There's a lot of red on the floor.

Like a carpet.

I don't think I can stand up anymore.

Then sit.

Head spinning crazily, I can hear bells.

Getting quiet now.

Is this it? Am I freed from my living hell?

. . .