Soliloquy

I am here, always here in thy pocket;
I am waiting, ever waiting to cool thy fever;
Why do you hesitate? Why suffer so?
To prove something? So tough art thou.

 

Open me, finger the edge of
My blade, how sharp am I;
Trace me softly, gently along the
Smooth pale back of your forearms;
See the blue veins, how they stream,
Feel the steady pump of the pulse.

 

How easily it could end, slipping
Quietly into the shadow world;
How suddenly you could be free from
Pain, the burden of consciousness.

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