These cuts run deep

 

He stood in the shower

For maybe an hour

Long enough for fissures

To form on his fingers.

He whispered, ���why am I here?���

A question no one could hear.

 

He swallowed his tears

He calmed his fears

And took the blade

That sealed his fate.

He stammered, ���should I do this,

At least to quiet the voices?���

 

First the shock, then the sting,

As blade sliced through skin

Then the welcomed quiet

God, was he tired.

He queried, ���maybe one more?���

So he settled for four.

 

As the shower swirled red

And the floor became his bed

As he lay there resigned,

One thought crossed his mind.

He breathed, ���will they love me

When I���m gone, finally?���