Did he take his
wrists? First the right, then
the left? Because it was
easier to make the
last incision? What made him
make this decision? Something from
inside bartered for his sanity?
Never the external influences who
keep their thoughts to
themselves. What made him
decide to take the risk? It’s never
too late to see; how lovely things
could be. When I feel the
blood that pumps through
them, I would – I could never take
my own. I feel it too painful in
thought, too precious
to be. When I rub on my wrists I
think of him. How could one try to
take his own life? I ask me.
© 2005