Wanting Death

Staring at the dark, navy blue sky

One… two… three…

Counting the stars that quickly appear

Four… five… six…

Holding up the knife, that I grip shaklee

Seven… eight… nine…

Wishing something, anything would change

Ten… eleven… twelve…

Looking down at my lined paper with ink spelling out my last words

Thirteen… fourteen… fifthteen…

Placing the knife to my Throat

Sixteen… seventeen… eighteen…

My heart is beating like a drum

Nineteen… twenty… twenty one…

Now I am hoping that something, anything would change

Twenty two… twenty three…

Twenty Four

An age that is eight years away

An age that once I move this knife across my Throat I will never reach

The number I reach that signals my brain,

To move this knife across my Throat

The dark, navy blue sky, now full with clouds, crys over the body that lays at its feet

Its tears bloching the ink on the lined paper

The stars now follow the sky,

Blinking off and on as if blinking away tears that never had to fall