My Release Poem by Tashi Coote

An agonizing cry pierces through the cold, dead night
He cowers in a dark room holding his knife with all his might.
His hands quiver as they curl into tight fists
Arms burn as blood flows from his cut up wrists.
There's so much pain, anger, and strife
He's sick and tired of living this tormented life.
His hands are scarred from always punching his door
All he feels like doing is cutting, cutting, and cutting some more.
He's too familiar with seeing his own blood
Even now it pours out of his wounds like a slow dark flood.
Every tug results in more red tears
Every cut strips away more suffering, more fears.
Soon all that's left is a hollow, scarred shell
His body burns as if he'd been thrown into the fiery pits of hell.
He feels trapped, stuck in a bind
His room spins, he's starting to lose his mind.
'You're just no good' he tells himself with a frown
It's your own damn fault that you're feeling down.
He puts the grey steel once more against his wrist, it feels cold
Suddenly he feels fine, even a little bold.
He tugs with a confidence that he didn't have before
Ground rushes up to meet him as he hits the floor.
He sees the pool of blood stain the white sheet
Feels quite calm as his heart slowly stops to beat.
He lets go of his knife, lets out a relieved sigh
Closes his eyes and finally whispers goodbye.