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