-Chapter 15: Tourniquet-

As Ginger Fitzgerald once said: Wrists are for girls, I'm cutting my throat.

I tried to kill the pain

But only brought more (So much more)

I lay dying

And I'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal

I'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming

Am I too lost to be saved

Am I too lost?

Whoever said that death didn't hurt, or that slitting your throat was sudden death was deeply mistaking. I laid on my bed that night, blood pouring out of my wound. What had I done?

My god my tourniquet

Return to me salvation

My god my tourniquet

Return to me salvation

I had slit my throat. I tried to kill my pain. But it didn't work. Now I was going to bleed to death. This wasn't instant. It was torture. I rolled over, the cut facing a mirror, and looked at my gash. it looked like a horror movie cut. But this, this wasn't a movie.

Do you remember me

Lost for so long

Will you be on the other side

Or will you forget me

I'm dying praying bleeding and screaming

Am I too lost to be saved

Am I too lost?

This past month I've been so lost. I haven't been myself at least. Who is this person I've become? Not the next Steven Spielburg, married to Lizzie and happily living in New York down the street from Miranda and her husband, like I had always though my future would be like. Or hoped.

My god my tourniquet

Return to me salvation

My god my tourniquet

Return to me salvation

So here I was. Dead on my bed. Bleed to death with the parents downstairs. Never even noticed. I never shed a tear at my own death. But so many for the others. I had to let my parents know. I cried out a pathetic scream and heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

My wounds cry for the grave

My soul cries for deliverance

Will I be denied Christ

Tourniquet

My suicide

Then it all went black.