The Knife By Jan McCartney

Suicidal tendencies grasp you in their hold
The icy knife of terror gleams so steely cold.
And yet, you wait, hoping that the answer might arrive at any time.
But your mind is a blur of nothingness.  It cannot even mime
The riddle’s answer.  So you wait a little more
Vacantly staring, straight ahead, trying to see passed the door.
But it’s closed and even locked, you think, and then
You give it up and decide it now must end.
And you pick up that steely knife so cold, left lying on the floor.
Your mind is made up, there is nothing left.
And, suddenly, there is a knock at that door!
The knife falls, once more, to the floor….