I want the last thing I see to be the thick, dark, liquid life that is my blood, being pumped out of my body as I stumble into isolation to die.

I want to feel the quick, sharp, searing pain of the cut, before it escalates onto the buzz, as I drag the blade as swiftly up my wrist as a bird of prey catches its food.

I want my vision to blur, and my head to pound as the lack of blood in my body attempts to keep me alive, as I walk away from everything.

I want to feel the tears slipping down my cheeks to join with the blood pooling, the perfect coushining for my death bed.

I want to attempt to croak out one last apology as I crumple on the floor, to have my final minutes in pain.

I want to be conscious until the life is finally freed from captivity in my body, not passed out in a pathetic attempt to save myself.

I want to rip my skin apart and destroy my cage as my breath escapes to fly with the birds as my being slips away forever.

I want to be reduced to dust and set free
Finally free of the boundaries life and mortality placed on me.