She’d had enough.
His end was near, didn’t know it though. He was clueless.
Her knuckles tightened around the elegantly shaped wine glass. Instinct and rage fueled the glass crashing into the side of the table. Only one crescent-shaped shard fell away.
It was the perfect edge to damage a pulsing artery.
She gracefully, furiously, lunged for the side of his throat. His vital organ cut wide-open. A rhythmic stream began pumping out, gushing blood down and out over his body. With stunned horror, he gripped his throat to stop the bleeding.
She watched, fascinated, as he was dying.
There will be an end to enduring suffering.
A permanent respite from all that is wrong with the world.
The light slowly leaving.
Dolor creeping into this blank space in my head.
Swallowed up in this ever-deepening gray haze minimizing my liveliness.
Pitch-blackness, my old friend, immobilizing me again.
No energy, desire, motivation or strength.
This thick sadness creates a loneliness where hope can’t creep in.
Courage oozes away, one drop after another of life leaking to somewhere it can’t return from.
Goals left to die in the waves of this depression.
Silent tears pitching between wet, heavy sobs.
An aching all-encompassing deep pain leaving invisible scars.
Severe despondency and dejection, I doubt life can go on.
It’s a reality in my head not worth living.
Escape from that which continually pulls me down feels impossible, this devastating extreme of the opposite of happy.
It feels like I’m stolen from me.
I feel over.