Suicidal Perfection

Bleeding Perfect

She stares at the knife sitting on the kitchen table. She just sits and… stares at it. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t talk. It just yells at her face ‘pick me up, you know you want to!’ And she silently agrees. She picks that knife up slowly, and slips it into her sleeve. She gets up and walks out of the kitchen, and hesitantly goes into the bathroom. Close the door, her brain tells her hand. She numbly reaches out towards the door knob and clicks the door shut, locking it. Locking herself in. Locking everything else out; all of the people and all of her fears she blocks out. An empty smile plays on her lips, as her eyes stare blankly at the mirror. As she looks at her reflection, she looks at herself and thinks, why?

Her heart wants to know the lies, for she finds comfort in them. Building a wall, surrounding herself from everything and everyone else; secluded and alone. She finds a sort of peace, a sense of bliss when she’s alone. There’s no one there but yourself. There’s no one to hurt you. There’s no one who will betray you; with their deceiving smiles and welcoming arms. There’s no one to blame… but yourself. You think to yourself why you’re alone, of why you’ve become so afraid. It’s because you don’t want to get hurt again. For the same reason, because everyone else doesn’t seem to learn from their mistakes.

So scared of what the world will throw at you each time you step outside. You think that you’re locked in your own personal hell, so death whispers to you. He whispers to you in your thoughts, and dreams. He whispers to you in the middle of the night, and he’s in the shadows… just waiting. He wants to pull you in slowly, carefully, and at the precise moment he wants you to die. He’ll drive you crazy, make you go insane. He laughs at life and everything about it. He pities the living because when you’re dead you feel nothing. You think nothing. And you’re not afraid of anything. ‘Cause when you’re dead… there’s no point in anything. You\'re dead, you\'re dead, there\'s nothing else left. Nothing left to pretend. Nothing left at all.

So as she looked herself in the mirror, death took it upon himself, to claim that soul that has been already lost. Death’s hand guided her right hand, which held the knife, to her wrist. She shivered where death put his hand upon hers and sliced open the skin, and pushed a little further to cut the vein open. The blood poured out, in great amount, but she had expected that. She welcomed the pain the blade had brought. She welcomed it with a smile. Death left her there, and waited for her to die, and after a few minutes she collapsed on the ground… a blank look in her eyes and a smile…

                                                            And guess what, she died

The blood pooling all around her, all over her. She had taken her own life. But why you may ask? Why did she take her own life? It’s because she was sick of life. She was tired of living. her will to live was no longer. Of all the thoughts that made her cry. Of all the feelings that made her die inside. Of all the words that weren’t said, but hurt the most. Of all the mistakes that make her regret. Of all the dreams that made her hopeful… only to be smashed. Of all the pain she was tired of. Of all the things she wasn’t….

She just wanted it all to go away. to make it stop. but it wouldn\'t go away, just. like. that. No, it stayed with her. That feeling, that emptiness, the thoughts of it ending. The thoughts of everything just stopping. Making it all freeze. It was too much to bare...

So she wrote a poem...i guess you could call it her suicide note... saying nothing, but saying everything at the same time. She wrote the words, so full in passion with tears streaming down her face. The life in her eyes was lost. Replaced by distant eyes. Her happiness was faked, couldn\'t you tell? The smile that was on her lips she pretended. The laugh she laughed, she acted. No one knew what she was feeling. No one seemed to even care...

THE POEM SHE WROTE:

KILLER

i look down at my wrist

and i think, “oh what a twist”

i can see the vein

and i wonder, “can it take away the pain?”

cutting open my arm…spills out blood

its drowning me in its flood

how much can i take?

ive already been to where i cant break…

so why is there that same smile, fake

right on my lips, where a small laugh wakes

i keep asking why

as i sit silently, trying hard not to cry

i will always whisper to the night

always hoping that there will be light…

but yet no one comes to be my salvation

you all just stare with sick fascination

you stare at me, who’s wanting to die…

and no matter how hard you try, i can see right through your lies

all the bullshit you tell me

of all the expectations you want me to be

i mutter, “i don’t have a purpose in life”

and i stare at my hand, holding a knife

no reason to possibly live

what more can i give?

the trust, hurt, betrayal, and being deceived

in all honesty i cannot believe i believed

whats left now? left of this mess?

i always seem to be “less”

maybe it was all in my head

so ill wake up and be in my bed

but its not in my head, it never was, never will be

all of this is real cant you see?

i guess not, since no one sees the blood on the wall

or youre just good at acting like its not there at all

And no one seems to hear my screams

you all think that death is too extreme

 i wanna plunge that knife into my skin

and just rightly death will win

i take the knife, feeling his soft caress

i can feel him slowly start to possess

i felt him take my breath away

and todays the day, my death day....

But she made a mistake.

Killing herself wasn’t the answer.

Because once you’re dead, you’re dead

You can’t be brought back to life,

Because death has already claimed you

She made the mistake of having a permanent solution…

To a temporary problem.

Lifeless. Cold. And dead... laid the body of her. Lifeless eyes staring at a distant space. Cold hands wrapped around the knife.

....death the sweet bliss

the escape from the world

but now you cant escape from yourself...