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June 4, 2008
I smell my blood,
Draining from my finger,
Fast, gushy, and red
I feel the pain,
Of
the wound I created,
Sharp and intense
I taste the anger,
Of my hatred,
Bitter and cold, just like my heart
I hear my shoulder angels,
The angelic one and the devious one,
One saying” Yes, keep going” and the other” No, stop hurting yourself”
I ignore them,
Off in my own world,
And fall to the ground
When I awake,
Surrounded by white and sitting on fluff,
I know I’ve arrived
I am Home, for good
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