My old work 1: I

I pick up the bottle.

I light up a smoke.

I pick up the knife.

I run the edge across my arm.

I softly press the point to my wrist.

I watch a drop of blood come to the surface.

I want to stop but yet I can't.

I know you brought me here.

I watched you place the bottle down.

I heard you say smoke I don't care.

I want to end it all and get away from you

I want the warm embrace of death

I cry

I miss who you were

I miss myself

I open my eyes

I know it was a dream

I look into the face of an angel

I know she has saved me

I smile

I reach out to her

I kiss her

I say thank you

I know she doesn't understand

I don't care

I will survive

I know

I don't need you

I never did.