Suicide

Warm, parlous and fluent

Oozing out of my wrist

The swift slash of the knife

On the canvas of life

Made by myself, and then

Lying down I look at colors

Blinding all the cheerless

Yesterdays; and the mess

On the carpet starts to

Spread towards the cold floor

Where I lie, half awake

Twisting, like a hurt snake.



The color of your blood

It looks the same as mine

And we are but sisters

With the same pained blisters

Our lives are alike

With potholes on the road

To our aspirations

And our inspirations

Were the same, until I

Chose to give up, and you

Struggled on like that plant

Waiting for a transplant.



Rearranging itself

Our pain has the strangest

Of ways; to bring about

The hardest, darkest route

Leading to tomorrows

That may or may not come

And as I wait for those

Last moments to come close

I know I chose easy

Ways out of injuries

Standing alone, you still

Look for a life to till.



It is not the color

Of your blood and of mine

That can set us apart

But courage in our heart

Makes our souls different

From each other, like the

Sun and the moon; one shines

While the other- it whines

For some light to shed on

The face of the dark world

My lights are going out

And you shine all around.