Work Text:
Bittersweet agony,
made of your own acts.
That horrible smell of blood fills the whole room
as this burgundy, beautiful liquid drips onto the floor.
You’re lying on the edge of your bed, almost naked.
You no longer feel any pain.
A shiny blade rests by your side -
the only thing that has never let you down.
Just a peaceful feeling slowly fills your body and spirit.
Your stunning face, though being terribly pale, is smiling.
Your wrists - both of them - painfully slit.
You’ve decided.
Tonight is your night.
Your last night.
You’ve done this.
You’ve killed yourself.