Death Awaits Poem by Andrew Bibby

As I violently ransack the house for something, anything I could use, a thought escapes to my mind.
What if it's wrong? What I'm doing is wrong.
Shoving aside the pesky interruption, I find a glass sphere used for illuminating sinical corners of each room.
That'll have to do... Donkey.
Shamefully, I encase the instrument in a soft towel of some sort.
Plain white, my parents never cared much for aesthetically pleasing guests with trivial colors and meaningless designs.
Trembling once again.
Placing the carefully wrapped product on the floor, I attempt to crush it with my weight alone.
I fail yet again. Just like all those other times...
My mind digresses from the task at hand.
This time I introduce an element of gravity by raising my foot off the ground and coming down on the victim.
The oh so familiar popping sound follows.
This is the only thing I will succeed in doing. Ending this all. Once, and forever.
My frantic hands unwrap, peeling away the unwanted cloth. You have served your purpose for now.
My distraught eyes scour the floor for a shard sharp enough.
My unkempt mind racing by at one thousand miles a minute.
I acquire a piece of glass and proceed to do business.
Chopping at my bare wrist, a few scratches, but nothing significant. Nothing I am looking for.
I pick up another chunk. Pressing it against my skin, closing my eyes for a few seconds, and slicing downwards through my arm.
I had done it.
Crimson juice sprays throughout the room. Devouring the bleak, cream walls in a gallon of blood.
Pleased with my actions, I sit down against the wall.
Allowing my mind to slowly come to a stop.
I close my eyes.
Death awaits.