I barricaded the door,
Screaming, lurching,
Gripped by myself,
Fear searing through every fibre,
Desperation tearing apart my soul,
My eyes and heart on fire.

I screamed loud,
You heard me but couldn't reach me,
Because I didn't want to be reached.
Or did I?

I smashed the glass,
Drew the shards across my wrists,
Slipped under, as warm blood poured down my arms,
Searching for sweet release.

In the haze I heard you knocking,
Then banging, then screaming.
Sirens in the distance,
Then closer.

Noise; a saw maybe.
Loud bangs,
Bright lights.
Beeps.
Beep, beep, beep.

I saw myself on the table,
Surrounded by doctors,
My body a ****** mess,
The green line becoming weaker,
Then flat.

As a child they said that you go to hell,
If you *******, or hurt other people,
Or if you hurt yourself.

It's the only thing that kept me alive so long.

When I returned from the dead they told me to get help;
The church, doctors, charities,
Be mindful, watch the world,
Relax, meditate,
Get better.

But there's no getting away from yourself,
And when you're this broken you can never be fixed.
Not by anybody else, not by yourself;
Not even by those who love you.

And so I sit here, again.
The door locked, more secure this time.
The glass sits on the shelf next to me,
Ready to be broken.
I know to be silent, not to scream,
Not this time,
But to silently slip under without saying goodbye.

It's selfish, I know, to find peace for myself,
And to leave others screaming,
My friends, my family, my children,
But they don't know this pain,
Only I do,
And I know it has to end.
Maybe then, they can stop worrying,
Move on with their lives,
Forget about this 300lb weight they were carrying,
Which was causing them to sink,
A millstone, not a man.
A failure who was supposed to provide,
Make things better,
But who instead destroyed everything.

I feel calm, not terror;
My hand doesn't even shake as I write this note;
Yet I don't even know why I write.

A pause? Clarity?
A goodbye?
Perhaps all three, but defintely not a cry for help.
I've cried all my tears.
Unrepentent, yet sorry for everything,
This is, without question, the end.
Adiue.
Perhaps all three, but defintely not a cry for help.