Red halos slash tender wrists And porcelain skin bleeds through A tourniquet is placed But only does blood accrue.
No pain swarms to engulf the mind Only visions of the surreal, Consciousness begins to taper The blood will not congeal.
Blood is pooling rapidly, bathing me in red This feeling of happiness is likely to spread Faintly I hear screaming of a suicide in bed And though I should be crying I'm smiling instead.
And now I'm hardly breathing, hypoxia is setting in What was once perfect porcelain is now cyanotic skin The medics rush towards me, in a frenzy to save my life, Pushing drugs and applying gauze while I still hold the knife
As they work so persistently I smile up at them For my heart is in asystole And I am finally free.
What rotten luck it's got to be to clean this mess I've made. I've left a stain on everything as they move me to the morgue Thus I'm gone in happiness knowing all the pain I now hoard.
The Magical Mellophone · Thu May 19, 2011 @ 05:33pm · 0 Comments |