Hickory, dickory, dock…
I hear the ticking of that damned clock..
The clock strikes 1, and soon I'll be dead
Hickory, dickory, dock
The clock… why won't they shut that fucking thing off? It's so loud! I don't want it to be loud! Its incessant beating makes my ears pulse! Every second it ticks is another second off of my life! Is this any way to live, dreading tomorrow?
AIDS. My blood… my blood could kill someone. I can't live with this.
AIDS… my boyfriend's blood… I gave it to him. I can't live with this.
Experts say suicide is a cry for help. Fuck them. I'd say doing heroine was a cry for help in itself… and no one heard, did they? And here I am, holding a razor to my skin.
Can I do this…?
Should I…?
Will I…?
Yes, I can. And I will. And I most definitely should.
I killed him. I killed Roger. How could I have? We were always careful. Sharing needles is like going through red lights… you know you shouldn't, but you do it anyway.
Now my light was red and I'd been stopped by the police. The fine? My life. My boyfriend's life. Possibly some other poor druggie's life, who the hell knows?
I take a tube of my lipstick and scrawl a quick message onto the mirror. The red stains the glass.
The razor breaks my skin. The red stains the glass.
I see red everywhere… it's not blood, it's poison. I can
imagine how when they find my broken body, those paramedics will be wearing those special contamination suits.
I feel dizzy… Roger… where are you…?
Mommy… where are you…?
Daddy, where are you…?
Don't cry… it's not your fault I turned out this way.
Forget me… forget I ever existed… April showers bring May flowers…
The red is mixed with black. I feel the blackness consume the red. It's silent… where is everyone…?
Where am I…?
Am I dead yet…?
Hickory, dickory, dock
I no longer hear that clock
The clock strikes 2, but I don't care..
Now I'm gone…
Hickory, dickory, dock