Not a black silhouette’s smothering embrace, but a soft hand easing me into ceaseless slumber.
Not a sharp slashing razor, but a soothing, rhythmic pain soon ceasing.
Not a cold terrified sinking into a permanent abyss, but a slow descent into eternity.
Eye lids fluttering open and closed, flashing between the bloodied wrists and realities obscurities
Hands grasping for besieged dream while combating the hostilities of the nightmares
Mind drowning in questions, trying to break surface for a breath in an answer
Not a poison blurring a lost vision, but a picture painted with a needle’s point
Not a game of Russian roulette, but a deliberate pull on the trigger
Not a life that grew into death, but a wound that festered and rotted away
