The contents may be under pressure
I think to myself
As I lay on this cold floor
Mismatched socks and a pair of gym shorts
One last jab at myself
To replace this fear with humor
the razor gouges my smooth skin
A quiet patter echoed throughout the house
The blood pooling at my thigh
pain slowly drowns away
Like a ship cracked at the hull
There is nothing left to do
But wait
I will not struggle towards the surface
I will not panic in the darkness
As my lungs fill to no return
I leave this cold world
No longer afraid
And no longer hurting
my aching heart rests
As a sun setting along the sea