Hemostasis

This poem was also written for a friend of mine. The same friend mentioned in The Patron Saint of Lost Causes actually. It should be fairly obvious what the poem is about, and even though I've never experienced the feeling myself, I tried my best to imagine it.

Hemostasis

Silence had fallen upon the house,
All except a small corner had become dark,
And in that small room of light,
There was a girl,
A girl filled very little hope.
Her heart had become a dim candle of light.
A fire so weak,
It failed to heat the girl’s soul.
And soon her body had become numb.

So she sought refuge from the blade,
And as the sharp, metallic surface cut its river of blood;
A river that flowed not to the sea,
But to the porcelain sink in that solitary room.
Her pain had diminished.
The sight of the red fluid comforted her.
Knowing well the risk she took,
But she needed to feel,
For her hands and legs seemed frozen,
Only pain was powerful enough to escape the numbness.
That brilliant, warm liquid showed her she was still alive.

As the evening wore on,
The bleached towels soon became a deathly crimson.
She had at last stopped shedding blood,
But was now shedding tears,
Not tears of pain,
But of disappointment,
The pain in her heart had become even greater,
So great in fact,
That no amount of blood could fix it.
Her flame was almost gone now,
On its final strain of wicker,
But just as she was reaching for the bullet,
A knock came upon the door,
And with it,
Came the kindling of a caring friend.
One that could heal her wounds,
And erase her scars.