Sick Christmas Tree

My clock has ceased its obnoxious ticking,
It has yet to echo once more,
Might that mean that I'm dying
As I lay abused on the floor?
Bruises decorate my body
As if a sick Christmas tree I'm illuminated
Blood, as if tinsel, wrapping around me
Twisted and cruel I lay humiliated.
As I close my crimson filled eyes
Your face flashes in the dark
Hovering over me, waiting for me to die,
Smiling satanically at each new mark.
Sharpened teeth glimmer in each shadowy corner
Memories cascading over me as I drown
I grab my beloved, glistening, razor
And sob without a sound.
I hold it to my wrist
As I have many days ago
Screaming as I feel the razor's kiss
And watch my blood, like a ruby waterfall, delicately flow
I know you're there, lurking within the room
Watching as I look at the suicide note on the bed
Regretting every minute I lived in gloom
Savoring each sorrow filled tear I shed.
My death is selfish, yes, I know,
But how can I stay alive
Cowering in fear everywhere I go?
Begging for Death to come and find
Me as I lay on this demon infested floor?
That is not a life, not in the least
And this I have written after I slammed the door
While I crumpled upon my battered knees.
So here I am, bleeding out slowly
A sick Christmas tree decorated by a demon
No, mom and dad, I never wanted pity
It's just my life no longer has reason.