My Solace

My Solace

Screams erupt around me as the rage surfaces from people I
care about.

They\'re not screaming at me, yet why do I feel the need for
my drug

The silver blade that is my solace hiding in an upstairs
drawer?

The urge intensifies as I feel myself being drawn up the
stairs.

I walked here, but it was as if I were on the outside
looking in,

There, but not really there.

I retrieve the precious solace from the drawer by the bed.

I hold it, cold against my lucid skin, the veins swirls of
blue beneath it.

Swirls of blue that hold my pain, begging the blade to
release it.

I dig the knife in, gently at first, then deeper.

Deeper until the warm, red life spills over, flowing into
oblivion.

I am aware of nothing else, and barely aware of even this.

I lose myself into the streams, that are now running down my
arm.

Later, I\'ll wash it away, but for now I\'d like to watch it
bleed,

And take comfort in my solace