Creeping To The Final Sleep

Is this the dark through
Which I must creep
To reach that eternal sleep
My sick soul so badly needs?
A gasp, a cause
(A swift-slit wrist)
Unlocks the door
And without a pause, across
The floor and sill of which
The blood's spill does
Drip and flow, as the
Heart does slow until
It, at last,
Does finally stop and life is
Lost.

Don't waste a call
To some sleepy doc; ring up
Instead the local cops and
If you're also keen to clean,
Call up a hearse
To your domestic scene,
All tacky and incarnadine.