What else is left...
Empty words try and describe what I feel...
When without you they would not exist.
What else do I think of than a peaceful acceptance of death's soothing lavender hand...
Fingernails of glass silence my tears as a hush comes from deep within this shade's eyes...
I am laying down on my bed...a knife within my hand...such a trivial way to die...must I have to shed blood in order for me to die?
Why can Death not just pull me away from my body and shelter me?
Why can Death not just cover me in her ebony velvet cloak...help me to forget my past...?
It is just her and me...other than that there is only shadow in the corners of my room. The eerie green light of my alarm clock reads 3 am...what a time to pass away...
I thought I was to do great things...
I thought I was to spread truth to the world and rescue it from Light's greed...
But now look at me...
Some saviour I turned out to be.
I am lost.
I was not born to leave...to quit...
But here I am about to kill myself with this pocket knife...just a tender slice into my wrist would end it swiftly...but I cannot...I do not have the strength nor the courage to go through with it...who would care if I did? I certainly have the pain enough to suffer this small of a cut...
I am tired of miding my face from the Light...I wanna show everyone who I am...my family...who I am...
They will not accept me...because I was born of the Light, and I do not understand their ways...it is the same for them.
So, Death, to you I pray every night...pull me away from this wearing reality...
Take me into your ethereal yet beautiful arms...your cloak and robes flow with such grace...your essence I can feel upon my face as you bestow a kiss...
You encourage me that this challenge must occur in order for me to truly show my face...
That I must bear the poison running through my veins from humanity until I completely give in...
So, Death, I pray to you now...
Help me end this struggle for sanity that I seem to be losing control of...there are no more words to speak...
I am left staring at my hand which holds this still unstained blade...but for how long? I do not believe I have the courage to survive the world's onslaught...I think it sorry that they do not know they are hurting me...
...and that I am too proud to scream out and tell them so...
