My Account Of My Suicide Attempt Poem by Brad Kellum

My Account Of My Suicide Attempt



One day I called in sick at work though I wasn't. I was at the house by my self. I was feeling real weird, I felt outside of my body. So, I picked up the dullest knife I could find and started cutting myself. I was trying to dig out the evil in me. That maybe the evil was in my blood and I could bleed it out of me. I felt nothing while I was doing it. No pain, No joy, nothing. I kept cutting until I got to my tendons and veins. Then, I woke up and realized I was fixing to kill myself. I could see my muscles, tendons, and bone. The glaring contrast of the white bone against all the raw viscousness of sinew and blood was insane.l was coverd in blood. All of the sudden it's like the knife grew hot in my hand. I could not hold it in my hand anymore.l droped it. When the knife hit the ground it screamed at me because it wanted more blood, more flesh to sever. It was like I was watching a movie of my life and I was the passenger instead of the driver. I changed clothes, cleaned up the mess, threw away the knife because I couldn't stand to hear it laugh at me no more for not going through with it. Then, I cleaned up my wound.
After that I went and picked up my wife at the time from work adn showed her. She freaked out and started crying. By the time I got to the E.R. the towel I had on my arm was dripping blood. As I walked back to the waiting room for attempted suicides I looked back and the strangest thought came to me. It was like some grim fairy tale. My blood drops on the clean white hospital floor looked like some demented bread crumb trial. I started laughing. Everyone just looked at me like I had lost my mind. I think at that moment I had.

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