Poems and Stuff

I

I look at my wrists, veins, and muscles all meshed together to form creation.
"Slit, slit" the voices cry. "Respite, end, you've had enough" over and over, stronger and weaker. Day in, day out. "End" they cry and cry again.
"No more pain, no heartache or past regret. Delight in the sinful oblivion, come."
Doors open, a being, welcoming, trying to embrace me.
"Leave it all," they say "stop annoying your friend and ruining lives. Step out of the game, leave the competition behind."
A shiver runs down my spine, tears cloud my eyes. My heart, a gaping black hole just wants time. Hands shaking, I look for the knife. Which knife, I wonder scanning the options, Japanese or another, cold and grey, or warm and shining? Hesitant, my might alight, the voices cry:
Art has failed you
So has love
Eating is a chore, and your time is neigh
Trying, crying, shutting the door with frail arms. I imprison my demons, with chains that cease to lock. Not today, I sob, the reason failing to reach me.
They retaliate, "life is an illusion and time flew by, what have you got?!"
Blood, roaring red, runs through my veins, demanding to flow into the open air. The past, haunting and dark, isn't willing to let me go. Shall I become a ghost, a shadow of my former self? Unrecognizable among the change? Am I simply being dramatic, or telling the truth, I can no longer tell. I have everything, so why can't I feel it, the want to live? Desire? Happiness?
All fleeting about tantalizing but non-existent in my often life.
I sit here in class, looking at the time.
How much of which is actually mine?