Monday, February 21, 2011


Crimson rivers are flowing,
Down your long, dark path.
Should I come near you?

Just to face your wrath.

There's a glow of the razor,
Laying next to your torn skin.
People ask you questions,
Yet, you're now dead within.

Your eyes closing, silently,
There's nothing else to say.
You speak words,barely audible,
'Maybe it's better this way.'

You find nobody holds you,
But, what is left to hold?
Your smile keeps lingering,
As your skin grows cold.

Your crystal tears are falling,
Down from the velvet sky.
And all you ever knew about,
Was, how to say goodbye. 

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