It started out with the handheld scissors
that were once used
to rip the tag off my pretty pink ballerina dress

I then picked out
the sharp edges of glass
that blanketed the photograph
keeping my dearest father alive

The tacks on my walls
from the silly band posters had worked for a while

Until it became no other obligation
than the razor
that was once sold in the store
of a lady who had no idea in the slightest
that she was selling a young girl
a ****** weapon.

It's okay,
I laugh at me, too.

Red rope lies on the floor
Contemplating, pondering, should I?
Maybe if life were just a bit more
And water didn't run knee-high

So this is what it felt like
For the others as they linger
Oh, but can'st thou call a sike
As the water reaches fingers

The door, glued shut with crimson liquids
Quivers like the thoughts and the doubts
Desperately, impatiently attempt to rid
The water rising to the snout

Red rope hangs on the ceiling.