Wits End

Revelling in the innocent's pain,
their sorrow; my joy.
Tears intermingle with blood
as they slide across the edge of the razor blade.
You see, darkness, my angel, is not the abscense of light
but rather the prescense of my brethren
holding court in the recesses of your soul.
You look lost.
Have I confused you again?
Sorry, but after all, it is my way.
No, I do not consider you stupid.
To be honest I do not consider you at all,
I merely offer options on how to use the scars
covering your heart and soul.
A way to break the hand cuffs that bind you.
An escape from the hurtful words
such as, anti-social, fat, lazy, worthless.
There is nothing to fear from the cuts of these barbs
for soon they will hurt you no more.
Look down. You see it, don't you?
The gun in your clenched hand.
Everything's simple now.
Just a little squeeze of the finger
and it's done.
What's that? Suicide? Such a dirty word.
They shoot horses don't they?
How is this different?
Am I the devil?
What kind of question is that?
Let's just say that I'm not red, and I don't have horns.
I am nothing more than a voice in your head.
But if you must give me a name, then I would prefer The Dark One.
Let's not speak of this anymore.
There are things that must be done and the time is right.
So finish this already.
If not, there's always tomorrow....