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I know it’s over when I run out of gauze, or don’t even have the strength to use it anymore

This cold floor robbing me of all I am

Then I feel my eyes shifting back and forth from the cutting instruments in front of me

And the warming invitation of a bed-sheet noose across the room

Occasionally I glance at the television

But the pills have blurred my vision point where I can’t tell what’s on

Or maybe it’s the blood loss

The next incision goes from shoulder-blade to kidney

Amputated fingers make it increasingly difficult

So weak, I drop the scalpel halfway down my back

I don’t even care to finish and reach for more

Butorphanol, pentazocine? I can’t even read this labels anymore

It’s almost time to go

In a few short days I’ll be found gutted and hanged

The scene is so gruesome

My body so mutilated

It will make whoever discovers me believe in nothing anymore