The Waiting Death

I’m looking in the mirror
Wondering what I have left.
I have a knife in my hand and a tear in my eye.
As I look at the reflection I think to my self is this the time to die?
I bring the blade close to my wrist and take a couple breaths

I build up enough strength to slice my wrist.
The cold touch of the blade rests on my skin.
As I move the blade I feel it pierce the skin.
The cold shiver shoots up my spine
The trickles of blood flowing down my arm
I look in the mirror and see the color leave my face
I stand quite and shaken while I take my last few breathes
I lay on the floor shaken and frozen
I close my eyes that will never be open again
After what feels like a couple seconds I open my eyes and look down
I then see my family standing around a grave.
As I look closer I see my name on the tombstone.
There on the floor of my bathroom is where I died the last thing I see is my own body
And it is being buried. Why I did this I do not know but now I know how many I’ve hurt.

By TheDarkLord

I love reading dark poetry. it helps me to relax.