Sitting with my legs-crossed, head tilted
on a cold and empty stone floor
Waiting for a sign from gods or men or some
other unspoken HIGHER power
But nothing ever comes to me and so I
take matters into my own trembling hands again
And take up the knife that feels too heavy
for anything more than absolute horror
Poise it slowly just below the wrist lined up
perfectly with the throbbing pulse at my middle finger.


And I begin to slip away, as the cold
metallic hum of an edge through flesh echoes
My hot breath and cold tears all the way
Up my arm, and out my soul and into the atmosphere....
I would ask that they drink of me....
make some sacrificial plea to heaven and hell.
But nobody listens....nobody hears a little girls tears.....
slipping unnoticed to the ground...
A salty testiment to broken hearts and broken bodies
lost in the blood of the night.

I begin to slip away...........