I run my fingers on the blade

And relish in the metal’s bite

My nature’s will is disobeyed,

But still the steel feels right.

 

The pretty thing is grim as death,

And glitters like a shard of moon.

Its edge could split my very breath,

It might well do it soon.

 

I draw the point across my wrist,

Exalting in my body’s fears.

It brings me clarity I’ve missed

In all those years of tears.

 

And halfway thrilled and half afraid,

I draw it to my throat and cry;

My eagerness will not be stayed;

But still I fear to die.

 

I lie there pleading in despair,

But I am merciless today.

My other tears cannot compare

With those I cry this way.

 

It feels as though the knife has freed

The feelings that I could not see,

And now my desperate pain and need 

At least are known to me.

 

My mind exalts; my body cries;

I strain to keep the two apart;

I clasp the knife - my sweet demise - 

And run it through my heart.