I draw the blade across my skin,
Like a maestro conducting his kin.
I watch the blood like an ocean flow,
Splash beneath to the floor below.

The remains of a breath on my lungs,
Red ladder climbing, my arm as its rungs.
An ache in my hardly beating heart,
Suicide sick in my mind from the start.

Tumbling down to the dark depths beneath,
Brandishing a razor like a sword from its sheath,
Closing my eyes, to heaven I fly.
I'm not even sorry I didn't say goodbye.