His Final Moments

Zach Nielson

In the dark room, your arms and legs are warm and wet
The scent of iron engulfs your nose
A dim light bounces beams of grey over your figure
As you look down, you notice a black crimson
This image startles you, while a rush of pain hits your wrists

As you cry out for help, you realize
No one will help you
Not a soul can.

The blade has cut vertically, signing your death
She walks over to you
But she's gone, died in another man's arms.

She shakes her head, while muttering something you cannot hear.
Her hand runs through the back of your hair.
She gently kisses your forehead.
Suddenly both her and the warmth are gone.

As the sick gray light retreats to the light bulb,
You begin to notice a metallic taste on your tongue.
Panic fills your mind, as once again your vision starts to tunnel.

The difference is what scares you.
Your vision finally ends with the color of your wrists
A warm liquid runs down your face.

Is it the same crimson that runs down your hands?
Or are you crying for what you are losing?
Finally you don't feel anything.
The pain has gone.

Both warmth and cold have seemed to have disappeared.
You're stranded in a world of nothing but black. 
What have you done?