She has the knife to her throat
Sobbing softly, she takes another
Glance at the empty pill bottles
Strewn over the floor.

She wonders why it has come to this
As she sobs introspective monologue
Her knuckles are turning white now
As she battles the demons that haunt her.

Behind tear-streaked eyes and a wisp of hair
Her once-bright eyes are dull and listless
Voices now, in the hall, in her room
Loud and piercing, but quickly fading.

A hand clasps hers, coaxing the blade away
Whose hand is that, she wonders
The room is fading into nothingness
The sounds are fading away.

She smiles to herself
This is better, she thinks
As her world turns to white
And her demons drift away.
 
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