I could slice, one quick cut across the wrist
And watch the blood flow freely inot my clenched fist,
As my sight grew misty and blurred.
I could release myself from pain here on this Earth;
Find surcease in oblivion, love in spirit, and, in heaven, worth-
And I might be heard.
With the passing seconds I grow lonely, tiredsome and weak,
Overtly pained and weary while I wait for chance to speak.