Your Final Release

Grab the blade, nice and sharp,
And drag it across your skin,
See the blood well up,
Watch it break, so paper thin.

Dig it in that little bit deeper,
And scrape through the day,
Use this pain to banish your troubles,
To cast them all away.

The blood flows down
As you regret what you've done,
Swear you'll never do it again,
But the blade's already won.

So, night after night in privacy,
You sit with your pain,
Doing the same thing over and over,
Make the blood again and again.

You feel there's no release
For all the pain you feel,
Fall asleep and wake each day
To the hope it isn't real.

Feeling pulled down by this life
Which has judged you unfairly,
Unable to take any more,
Regarding the world warily.

You simply pray for an end,
Just to make it leave without a trace,
But it stays inside, corrupting,
You feel like a disgrace.

These feelings are so constricting,
Holding you in so tightly,
Making this pain, this blood,
Making it nightly.

Your only way to get through life,
Your only way to hope,
Your one last cut,
Placed deeply upon your throat.

This one last slice,
Then you'll find your peace,
The blood bubbling up,
Your final release.

© Copyright of Holly Nia Goodson