Fate is in My Hand

the blade in my hand,
feels familiar,
in the way,
it fits perfectly in my palm,
and glides effortlessly,
across my wrist.
the blood on my wrist,
is familiar,
in the way,
it runs down my arm,
and glistens in the moonlight,
intruding through the window.
the tears falling,
feel familiar,
in the way,
they run down my face,
and mix,
with the scarlet blood,
the darkness and pain,
the hate and rejection,
the matters of life,
or death,
is in my hand.