Last Resort?

Scarlet blood smeared across a thin, faded mattress
Drips
Drops
Splatters

An ivory cardigan is marred by innocence.
No, naivety...
Despair.
Anger.
Contempt.

Her mind: the war,
Her wrist: the front line,
The weapon of choice: a blade, carefully positioned,
Slices her silky pink flesh,
And another thread is spun into her red lace of hate.
One more, she thinks...
She wonders what heaven’s like.
With each slash
There is less pain,
There is less life,
Till the window’s fogged, and the image wanes,
And there is nothing
But a battered radio humming bleak Pink Floyd

And scarlet blood smeared across a thin, faded mattress
Dripped
Dropped
Splattered

A young girl is marred by innocence.