A Letter to You

I am checking out. I am giving in.
The darkness breaks upon me,
my eyes are haunted,
my strength worn thin.
You are not here anymore; you do not care anymore;
so tell me dear, what remains
to keep the razor from my wrist?
what is left of you?
what remains to keep me safe at night,
who, now, will hold the blade?
If i give in to the darkness,
to the blood's sweet release,
If you saw your name in red on a suicide note,
would your heart skip a beat?
Would you care that it was signed by me?
If the razor fell from my hand to the floor,
would you spare me a second glance?
or would you finish the job for me
by twisting the knife you left in my back?