Poetry of a Madman

As i sit tired, thinking about what my future holds

I can't help to notice, the bitter cold

Your warm breath could cause but a spot

In my deep, depressing thought

My slender warm fingers wrap around,

The thing that will make me safe and oh so sound

The polished metal of one jagged blade

Could end all the trouble, my life has made

I raise my hand, in dark salute

I beg my hands, not to shoot.

I take one look, at my clean wrist,

And glide my sight, to my clenched fist

I strain to seek, in my dark room

The beautiful light, of tonight's true moon.

I stare above, to world so fair

And flick my wrist, to end this nightmare