by Amby Mae Sep 24, 2003
category :
Sadness, depression /
about death
I am lying on the floor, blood seeping under the door. My wrests are cut two inches deep and I am going into an internal sleep. You could have saved me if you tried, but it’s too late I’ve already died. I don’t want you to get pleasure from my death, just when you kiss Beth think of me, think of how it used to be |