Lying on this blood stained floor, I find it in myself to pray. Praying for something more, with the tools of my demise beside me. "Please, God, tell me there's something more. Tell me what I do, all that I've done is not for nothing."
I pick up the sharp stainless steal again and the stains on this bathroom floor regain their life. Nothing about this is heavenly but I feel like such an angel. I am so weak. Weak in every way at the moment. My brain is shut off but my eyes still work to find my wrist with this razors edge.
Swimming in this sea of red. I can't hold on anymore. I can't wait. I won't wait. "Make it happen." Is that God? No one else will speak to me but her now.
I am screaming back through tears and thoughts. "You fucking make it happen!" Who am I yelling at now? Is it her that I hear or is it this scruffy, aching voice I call my own? My life is in her hands now. This isn't something I was asking for. I misjudged the vein. Or am I the vain misjudged?
Thinking I had it all, thinking I am better than I am. Lying on a bathroom floor, no angels to be seen, not even myself. I was wrong. Reality really hits you, hits you so fucking hard when you're drowning in blood and tears. No, you are not immortal. No, you are not so fucking hot after all. You're just like everyone else. You are everyone in the world when there's nothing between you and death anymore. Nothing between you and death except for a linoleum floor.
I dropped that razor hours ago. I can't get up. Not that I ever could. I am lost for words, losing breath and running out of time. I try to focus my eyes on the door. Making blurry wishes. Wishing for someone to save me. Although, I am sure I am not the saving kind. So, maybe I'll find strength within myself but, I only have a minute or so left. We all only have a minute or so left. Time to wake up.