Concentration

SHE SITS. BLADE IN HAND.
STOLEN FROM THE GROCERY STORE.
SLICK. CLEAN. UNUSED BLADE.
BEAUTIFUL. TASK AT HAND.
SHE PULLS BACK THE SLEEVES.
TURNS ON THE WATER. WARM.

THE LOUD DROPS OF WATER. SO MENACING.
DO IT SHE THINKS.... TOO MUCH NOISE
NOTHINGS EASY, OR QUIET SHE THINKS.
NOT EVEN THE FOCET CAN BE SILENT.
SHE WANTS THE NOISE TO STOP.
END IT ALL.

SHHH... SHHH... SHHH...
THE BLADE HELD CLOSE TO SKIN.
SHE PUSHES DOWN. THE BLADE.
POP IT GOES UNDER THE SKIN.
RED. RED. RED. THE CUT, SO SIMPLE.
SO QUIET... SHE THINKS.

FINALLY SOMETHING QUIET. QUICK.
EASY. SIMPLE. SHE CAN BREATH.
ALIVE. SHE CRIES OUT LOUD.
NOT SAD. NOT HAPPY. ALIVE.
THATS ALL SHE WANTED... THAT'S ALL.
SUBMERGED GOES THE DELICATE WRISTS.