The Killer's Suicide Note

When he opened the door to his wrist,

it was less like something leaving him,

streaming out into the world,

than as if darkness,

growing thicker every moment,

were filling him.

The blackness rose to the top of his eyes,

entering his head like fuel preparing him

for a long, long trip.

He is now so far away from the hand

holding his exit

it’s as if a stranger had done the final work,

usurped his life at a moment’s notice.

He wants to ask,

“Why did you do this?”

“Please, put it all back.”

But the arm grows longer and longer

a road moving away from him

any glimmer of hope carried off

on the razor edge of a blade.