Anesthetics

The musky scent, clean air, the fresh, cool shade;

All so perfect, to be one final thought.

It was the memory of being shot.

The reason I put my wrist to a blade.

That last day, my hair was in a braid.

Was deathly afraid of getting caught

Could only feel my blood running down, red, hot

At last, all my mistakes, all my debts, paid...

"What have you done child of mine? I need you."

So why was I considering this end?

What turn of events led me to this, friend?

He needed me, at His side, yet I knew.

And still, these upsetting, dire thoughts, would creep

So instead, the narcotics helped me sleep.