Reasons Why
She sits with one thought,
Of the end.
The promise of peace is giving her breath.
The light hurts her eyes.
Dark has become so familiar;
It used to scare her, but now it comforts.
A bottle of vodka her aid not her reason.
The wind sighs in the trees outside her window,
Dusk is watching her,
The light in her room is warmth that she can’t feel.
She sits on her floor by the bed thinking about last words.
None of hers are going to be meaningful or poetic,
She has written pages upon pages of that and no one listened.
Knowing what she wants to say she picks up the thin blade,
One last statement,
One last explanation.
She lowers the blade over her left arm and carefully cuts the word “hated” into her skin,
Watching as the blood comes to the surface and runs red.
Next is on her stomach the word “fat” is cut under the ribcage.
Then her inner thigh, adorned with the word “slut.”
Her leg says “BPD.”
“Sad” carved near her ankle.
She finishes with a heart on her chest.
Another shot of vodka,
Turn up the music until it hurts,
No more thought,
She has had enough of thought,
No time for regret,
Slicing her wrist open in bold, practiced strokes.
More Vodka, feeling it seep through her veins as blood spills out,
Bleeding on the bottle.
Another slash with the razor blade,
Blinding white pain
As her wrist splits apart, a smile,
The cut artery spraying her in warm blood,
Then gushes, like a faucet turned on full force
Hands slippery with blood reaching for her phone,
Speed dialing number five, unsure if whether or not she wants an answer
The voice of her best friend on the answering machine,
Leaving a message saying that it’s too late, but she loves her,
She’s so sorry that she wasn't strong enough.
Feeling sick as the blood loss takes its toll.
Hoping to God that she made the right decision, for peace
Slumping to the ground, wrist gushing,
Thinking about last thoughts,
As the darkness sets in for good this time.
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