This torment is my torture,
A never ending suffering.
Alcohol only a temporary diversion,
Only one true way to end it all.
A blade with a jagged edge,
Fumbling in my hands,
Waiting for it's first taste of blood.
I slowly lye the cold metal against my skin,
A chilling surge rushes through me.
The blade waiting anxiously,
As my shaking fingers grasp the hilt.
I push down,
Forcing the blade through my skin.
Blood rushing to the surface,
My arm drenched in a deep red.
The world begins to spin rapidly,
I fall to the ground in a blur.
A pool of blood surrounding my wound,
Too weak to raise my limbs.
Unable to grasp my reality,
I close my eyes.
The darkness terrifying,
Waiting for the unknown.
My breathing slowing to a shallow gasp,
I know this life is almost over.
Now it's time to sleep,
Drift off and leave this place.
Comments about this poem (My Torment by Mitchell Barron )
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