Poetry about suicide.

I.

Salt on my tongue,
not from the sea—
two tablespoons
of what I couldn't say.

Water,
enough to wash
the weight away.

II.

I sit here, relapsed,
rethinking every setback.
As rationalism disappears,
the razor's purpose changes.

III.

Wanting to be someone of worth.
Impatience makes me realize
how far away
I shouted.

IV.

So I cut the blue hair,
and it all becomes purple.
My vision darkens so much,
I see light.

V.

Regretting
as everything slows down,
my thoughts grow distant,
until everything's silent.