The house is silent

The snoring and stirring of a parent

The bathroom tiles are ice

Against my warm but bloody thighs.

In the morning they will find me

Soaked in blood and misery

They’ll worry where they went wrong

And I’ll tell them if I could

The things and things among.

My voice would quiver and break

As my hand leaves letters in its wake.

Apologetic and sincere

As my time grows thinner.

Id write about the long night

And the rising sun light

A bright sky I’d never see

I’d leave them with a plea

A plea to forgive my selfishness.