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It's dark.

I'm cold.

I'm not scared.

But alone.



I, to have someone in my arms.

Someone who wont make me cry.

Someone, who will love me as I love them.



But they're dead.

Cold as ice.

When I brush the tips of my finger to they're blue cheek,

shivers over take my body.



I blame myself,

for not loving them as much as I could have.



But maybe I can make it up to them.



The blade on my wrist is cold.

It reflects my face, covered in tears.



Now I am scared,

scared, that if I do see them,

they might not want me back.



Blood trickles down my wrist,

as time goes by,

the blood flows quicker.



Its so beautiful,

its so warm,

its so painful.



The room is turning dim,

I lay down and close my eyes.



Its so cold, but yet,

I'm happy.



For you my love,

I'm dead.