While wearing a morbid and gruesome grimace He wrote down final words
Some last thoughts
Not for comfort, but to let others know
Where he'd been
In this tiny room where he'd lived for a decade
He had company
All of the voices in his head
Since youth he knew them well
They carried on a dialogue
Whispering in his ear
They made his life hell
When they ask questions
He screamed his reply
Meant to be his last words
He delivered them with a shout
Diary finished, book lock sealed
He'd written very little, only this
God himself can't be redeemed
Why'd I ever think he'd save me
Decision final
Chose the pattern of the corrective surgery
With one slice across the jugular
Another across the wrist
There is a sort of rush
Gushing, dark red blood
The act makes no sound
But he is shocked
As crimson poured upon the ground
In torrents and spray as if a flood
This was no holy act
His skin turned white
A shiver from pain
Growing cold by the loss
His future slowly congealed
He believed in God
But never eliminated doubt
Instead of victory, he let the demons win
He was broken by bad choices
New pain from rejection was the final blow
He didn't silence the voices
He wasn't willing to heal
So his bleeding doesn't stop
He felt dizzy, heard a flush of sound
His vision now went blank
Crashes backward
To the floor
And fades
