Overly idealistic
He sits there pessimistic
Self loathing, restless
Apathetic
Almost believing his own lies
That no one knows, could understand
or even want to really
What he’s thinking, contemplating
waiting, wondering how it might feel
To him, or anybody else who cared
Now, or anytime in his life
Sitting and staring into space
Then back at the blade
Razor sharp and straight
Fourteen inches of black pearl handled death
Perfectly balanced
A tool well crafted for it’s task
He then asks… How to proceed?
The voice in his head says

Severing a main artery would be the quickest
Which one? The Femoral, Axillary,

The Carotid
that’s it…
One smooth downward stroke
against the side of the throat
should do it
Easy… But what if it didn’t work
Now deciding what might be
the next least painful route
Stiletto plunged twixt
the third and fourth ribs
Directly through the heart
still sounds like it would hurt
too much, but
Not as much as living
This relentless nightmare…

© COPYRIGHT 2011 Thomas Pelto ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.